BANCROFT 

LIBRARY 
<• 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


THE  GIRL  FROM  FOUR 
CORNERS 

A  ROMANCE  OF  CALIFORNIA  TO-DAY 


BY 


REBECCA  N.  PORTER 


WITH  A  FRONTISPIECE 
BY  ADA  WILLIAMSON 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

1920 


COPYRIGHT.  1920 

BY 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


gfr  <8u(nn  &  gotten  Company 

BOOK     MANUFACTURERS 
RAHWAY  NEW    JERSEY 


TO 

BETTY 

AND  TO  ALL  GOOD  SISTERS  EVERYWHERE, 

WHO    WILL  BELIEVE-IN  SPITE 

OF  THE  CRITICS 


CONTENTS 

PART  ONE  PAGE 

MARGARET      .       .       .       •       •       *       *      >       •        3 

PART  Two 
FREDERICK      .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .      53 

PART  THREE 
CINDERELLA  AND  CERES      •       •       *       •       •       •     IO7 

PART  FOUR 
AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 155 

PART  FIVE 
IN  HIGH  GEAR      .       .      V     *       .       .       .       .     195 

PART  Six 
BURNING  BRIDGES     ;   .       .       .       ....     243 

PART  SEVEN 
THE  CORNER  TABLE   . 289 

PART  EIGHT 
ON  TRIAL      .       .       .      V 335 


PART  ONE:  MARGARET 


IT  was  five  o'clock  on  Sunday  afternoon.  Margaret 
Garrison,  standing  by  the  library  window,  watched 
her  uncle  and  aunt  and  cousin  Edith  start  away  for 
the  usual  Sunday  evening  supper  at  the  Peytons'. 
She  even  managed  a  smile  and  a  wave  of  her  hand, 
and  then  as  the  trio  vanished  around  the  corner  her 
face  settled  into  the  hard,  tense  lines  that  it  had  worn 
all  that  crucial  day. 

They  had  all  been  so  kind;  Uncle  Edward,  Aunt 
Juliet,  Cousin  Edith,  and  Uncle  Rodney  (always  the 
most  understanding  of  all).  Each  had  tried  to  make 
light  of  Richard  Pennington's  defection  with  the 
studied  kindliness  of  people  who  find  it  hard  to  regard 
public  reproach  lightly.  Their  comfortings  drifted 
with  dreary  insistence  through  her  memory.  She 
marshaled  them  before  her  now,  smiling  wanly  at 
their  palpable  lack  of  conviction  and  the  unmistakable 
suitability  of  the  "  lines  "  to  each  valiant  actor  in  the 
drama. 

Aunt  Juliet:  "  Now  don't  let  it  embitter  you,  dear. 
People  forget  these  things  in  an  unbelievably  short 
time;  they  really  do.  And  it  isn't  as  if  Dick  had  done 
anything  to  hurt  any  one  else;  anything  beyond  the 

3 


4 :-.:  :•:  " 

pale  of  moral  forgiveness.  He  is  a  Pennington,  after 
all,  and  to  be  running  for  state  office  at  his  age — well, 
people  forget  with  a  man  like  that;  they  just  forget.' ' 

Uncle  Edward:  "  I've  known  just  as  promising 
young  men  to  go  on  the  rocks  before  and  yet  make 
port  with  the  flag  flying  high.  Politics-Quicksand. 
A  fellow  is  up  to  his  neck  before  he  knows  it.  He'll 
be  all  right  when  he's  got  an  anchor  aboard — when 
he's  got  you." 

Cousin  Edith:  "  My  dear,  it's  the  most  romantic 
thing!  I'd  love  to  have  a  man  like  that  care  for 
me.  Why,  only  a  man  that  was  a  man  could  get  in 
that  deep,  Marnie.  Nobody  is  offered  such  a  posi- 
tion as  a — as  a  bribe,  if  he  isn't  worth  it.  I  wish  I 
could  hear  what  he  says  to  you  tonight!  " 

Uncle  Rodney:  No  words  at  all,  no  caress,  but  a 
comprehending  sympathy  in  the  very  way  that  he 
passed  her  the  butter  at  table. 

And  now  Dick  Pennington  was  coming.  He  had 
said  he  would  be  there  at  a  little  after  five.  If  only 
it  were  romantic,  light-hearted  little  Edith  who  had 
to  hear  his  miserable  defense,  instead  of  herself! 
They  were  both  Garrisons,  but  Edith  had  never  felt 
the  tyranny  of  family  as  much  as  she.  In  three  years, 
when  Edith  was  her  age,  would  her  pride  be  more 
despotic,  Margaret  wondered,  or  are  such  things  mat- 
ters, not  of  age,  but  of  temperament? 

The  house  was  very  still.    The  servants,  all  but  old 


MARGARET  5 

Myra,  were  away  for  the  evening  as  usual,  and  the 
only  other  person  at  home  was  Uncle  Rodney,  reading 
in  the  upstairs  sitting  room. 

There  was  a  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  front  porch, 
then  the  shrill  staccato  of  a  bell,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment a  voice  that  sent  the  blood  rushing  to  her 
cheeks. 

'Til  tell  Miss  Margaret  that "  old  Myra  was 

saying.  But  the  sharp,  decisive  voice  interrupted  her. 
"  I'll  find  her  myself."  A  moment  later  Richard  Pen- 
nington  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  library. 

He  was  a  man  just  out  of  the  twenties;  tall,  well- 
proportioned,  with  that  slight  hauteur  of  bearing  that 
is  not  egotism  but  the  armor  with  which  the  sensitive 
temperament  shields  itself.  The  corners  of  his  dark, 
compelling  eyes  showed  already  that  tribute  of  fine 
lines  which  the  intense  and  artistic  natures  pay  early 
at  the  shrine  of  ambition.  Margaret  Garrison  was 
almost  as  tall  as  he,  and  when  their  engagement  had 
been  announced  they  had  been  called  by  their  friends 
"the  handsomest  couple  of  the  season."  For  a  moment 
he  stopped  in  the  doorway  reading  her  eyes;  those 
changing  eyes,  which  seemed  sometimes  to  take  their 
color  from  the  wealth  of  light  brown  hair  which  she 
wore  like  a  crown,  but  which  strong  emotion  darkened 
and  deepened.  Tonight  they  looked  almost  black.  Slow- 
ly he  came  toward  her,  like  a  criminal  who  has  already 
heard  the  jury's  verdict  and  awaits  only  the  formal- 


6  MARGARET 

ity  of  his  sentence.    "  I  have  come,  Margaret,"  he  said. 

Cold,  contemptuous  reproach  died  out  of  the  girl's 
face.  At  the  sound  of  his  voice  the  barbs  of  scorn 
which  she  had  prepared  were  forgotten.  Only  a 
fathomless  appeal  was  in  her  eyes  as  she  looked  into 
his  face  now. 

"  Oh,  Dick!    Tell  me  that  it  isn't  true!  " 

His  lips  set  themselves  in  a  hard,  straight  line.  "  I 
wish  I  could  tell  you  that.  I  wish  to  God  I  could  tell 
you  that,  Margaret !  " 

Her  eyes  were  searching  his,  hungrily,  as  though  for 
a  crumb  of  hope.  "  But  there  must  be  some  mistake, 
some  reason  for " 

"There  is  no  mistake  but — there  was  a  reason." 

"  What  could  it  have  been?  " 

He  stood  before  her,  his  fingers  digging  into  the 
puffy  back  of  a  heavily  upholstered  chair.  "  The  rea- 
son," he  said  hoarsely,  "  was  you." 

Anger  flamed  in  her  face.  "  You  can't  say  that !  " 
she  cried.  "  You  can't  take  refuge  behind  that !  I 
never  urged  you  into  politics.  I  never  drove  you  to 
— to — this,  by  a  hounding  ambition.  I  was  satisfied 
to  have  you  a  prosperous,  respected  lawyer,  a  Pen- 
nington.  It  was  not  for  me  that " 

"  It  was  for  you,  Margaret.  But  I  am  not  trying 
to  'take  refuge  behind  that,'  as  you  say.  I  don't 
say  that  you  are  to  blame,  and  you  know  that  I  don't 
mean  that;  but  I  say  that  you  were  my  reason.  You 


MARGARET  7 

are  the  reason  for  everything  I  do.     You  are  the 
motive  of  my  every  act." 

He  came  a  step  closer,  still  clutching  at  the  heavy 
chair  as  though  afraid  to  remove  all  barriers  between 
them.  "  You  say  that  you  are  not  hounded  by  ambi- 
tion, that  you  were  satisfied  with  me  as  I  was.  But 
having  won  you,  I  couldn't  be  satisfied  with  myself. 
On  that  night,  that  wonderful  night,  Margaret,  I 
went  home  feeling  that  the  world  was  at  my  feet. 
You  were  willing  to  take  me  as  I  was.  But  I  was 
afire  with  determination  to  give  you  more  than  you 
asked.  Prosperity,  a  comfortable  home,  an  honored 
name — you  had  all  these  in  your  uncle's  house.  To 
me  they  seemed  trivial,  matter-of-course  things.  I 
knew  that  I  had  it  in  me  to  do  something  more.  The 
assembly  vote  came  so  easily.  I  knew  that  you  were 
proud  of  me  when  I  won.  But  up  there  at  the  legis- 
lature—  Oh,  I  can't  explain  it  to  you !  If  you  had 
ever  been  up  against  life — I  suppose  you  can't  under- 
stand. It  won't  sound  convincing,  and  I  don't  give 
it  as  an  excuse,  but  in  politics,  nothing  is  out  in  the 
open;  everything  is  ambushed.  Expediency  is  the 
goal,  and  the  pressure  is  so  strong,  the  odds  so  large. 
I  suppose  all  of  you  call  what  I  did,  graft.  But  at 
the  time  it  didn't  seem  that  way  to  me.  If  it  had  been 
money,  of  course  I  would  have  seen  it,  for  money  is 
always  marked.  But  position,  advancement,  which  I 
felt  that  I  had  won  anyway " 


8  MARGARET 

His  words  were  coming  in  a  rush  now,  tumbling 
over  each  other  in  their  eagerness.  But  the  old 
hauteur  of  manner,  that  pretense  of  arrogance  was 
not  all  vanquished.  Hardly  conscious  that  she  noted 
this  at  all,  the  woman,  from  her  dais  of  judgment, 
thrilled  at  the  plea  of  this  offender,  penitent  but 
unabased. 

"And  you  really  thought  that  this  position  would 
mean  so  much  to  me  ?  "  Richard  Pennington  had 
once  said  that  she  had  an  "ardent"  voice  and  that 
it  could  work  more  havoc  in  a  man's  soul  than  most 
women  can  accomplish  with  eyes  and  arms. 

He  pushed  the  chair  away  from  him  and  stood  be- 
fore her  with  clenched  hands.  "  No,  I  didn't  think 
that.  I  didn't  think  much  about  what  it  would  mean 
to  you.  All  my  thought  was  centered  upon  what  it 
would  mean  to  me  to  offer  it.  You  may  not  know 
that  you  are  ambitious,  Margaret,  but  you  are.  You 
couldn't  help  being;  you  ought  to  be.  It's  in  your 
blood.  If  your  father  had  lived  he  would  have  been 
one  of  the  biggest  men  in  this  state.  Your  uncles  are 
called  the  railroad  kings  of  California.  And  that 
means  more  than  you  realize.  I  had  to  satisfy  my 
pride.  I  had  to " 

If  he  had  only  known —  If  his  guardian  angel 
had  only  sealed  his  lips,  stricken  him  dumb  if  need 
be,  before  he  uttered  that  word!  If  he  had  only 
pleaded  his  need  of  her  instead !  But  it  was  out,  and 


MARGARET  9 

the  full  measure  of  its  devastation  was  not  finished  in 
their  lifetime.  Generations  of  that  cold  self-possession 
which  had  made  many  a  Garrison  man  and  broken 
many  a  Garrison  woman,  were  in  her  voice  when  she 
spoke  again. 

"  Now  you  have  given  me  your  real  reason, 
Richard.  It  was  not  love  that  prompted  you  at  all. 
It  was  merely  pride." 

His  sensitive  mouth  twitched.  "  Some  day  you  will 
know,"  he  said  slowly,  "  that  with  a  man,  those  two 
things  are  the  same."  He  averted  his  eyes  from  the 
thing  that  she  held  out  to  him.  "  And  may  God  help 
you,  Margaret,  if  you  ever  marry  a  man  who  can 
divorce  them." 

Still  she  held  it  out  to  him,  silently.  He  took  it  into 
his  possession  with  the  hand  that  held  it.  "  Darling," 
he  whispered,  "  don't  cast  me  adrift  now.  Now,  of 
all  moments,  don't  desert  me.  I  was  wrong,  ter- 
ribly wrong;  I  see  it  now.  But  I  can  make  good  yet; 
I  will  make  good,  and  live  this  thing  down  so  that  it 
will  be  scarcely  remembered.  Pride?  Of  course  I 
have  it.  It's  the  cornerstone  on  which  we  must  build. 
But  you  have  humbled  it,  dear.  You  have  humbled 
it  greatly  or  I  couldn't  ask  you  to  take  my  name  now. 
I'm  not  worthy  to  ask  anything  of  you,  but " 

He  paused,  searching  her  face  as  he  had  done  in 
that  first  moment  of  their  meeting.  Then  he  relin- 
quished her  hand,  and  stood  looking  at  her  in  silence. 


10  MARGARET 

That  she  could  not  meet  his  eyes  should  have  given 
him  hope,  but  through  the  mist  that  dimmed  his  vision, 
he  missed  this  signaling  light. 

"  I'll  not  try  to  persuade  you,  Margaret,  for  God 
knows  you  have  a  right  to  reject  a  future  with  me 
now."  He  turned  away,  walking  blindly  down  the 
long,  unlighted  library.  But  at  the  door  he  stopped 
and  spoke  again.  "  You  have  a  right  to  scorn  me. 
Bat  if  you  should  relent,  I  will  be  ready,  waiting. 
And  no  wrong  that  either  of  us  might  do  can  ever 
alter  the  fact  that  we  were  made  for  each  other,  that 
we  belong  to  each  other.  For  either  of  us  to  forget 
that — will  be  the  greatest  wrong  of  all." 

A  moment  later  she  heard  the  front  door  slam.  It 
seemed  to  shake  the  massive  house  to  its  very  founda- 
tions. It  echoed  through  the  quiet  rooms.  And  al- 
though she  stood  alert  and  tense,  listening  for  the 
sound  of  it  to  die  away,  all  the  years  of  her  future 

were  not  long  enough  to  still  its  last  reverberation. 

( 

Two  days  after  her  dismissal  of  Richard  Penning- 
ton,  and  while  he  was  still  the  favorite  topic  of  Los 
Angeles  dinner  table  and  club,  Margaret  yielded  to  the 
plan  made  for  her  by  her  aunt  and  uncles.  Mrs. 
Peyton  and  her  sister  were  going  to  the  Yosemite  for 
the  month  of  May  and  were  urgent  in  their  invitation 
to  have  Margaret  accompany  them.  "  It  won't  thrill 
you,  my  dear,  to  spend  a  month  with  two  elderly 


MARGARET  u 

ladies  in  the  wilderness.  But  it  is  the  time  of  year 
to  see  the  valley — "  etc.,  etc. 

And  Margaret  had  not  required  much  urging.  The 
very  lack  of  thrills  in  the  prospective  program,  was 
appealing  to  her  taut  nerves.  And  so,  with  that  gal- 
lant pretense  of  ignorance  of  the  real  motive  of  the 
plan,  which  is  one  of  the  most  difficult  demands  upon 
graciousness,  she  threw  herself  into  the  details  of 
preparation. 

"  She'll  come  back  a  different  girl,"  Aunt  Juliet 
told  her  brother-in-law.  "You'll  see.  Margaret's 
only  twenty-two  and  youth  will  assert  itself.  This 
political  gossip  will  all  blow  over  and  she  and  Dick 
Pennington  will  be  reconciled.  They're  madly  in  love 
with  each  other,  and — well,  I'm  a  happily  married 
woman  myself  and  I  ought  to  know  something  about 
what  love  will  do." 

There  was  almost  a  challenge  in  the  words,  but 
Rodney  Garrison's  face  was  inscrutable.  He  was 
more  than  fifty,  and  twenty  years  of  bachelor  ease  and 
prosperity  lay  between  him  and  a  blasted  dream,  but 
they  had  not  been  long  enough  to  make  him  forget. 
So  he  looked  at  Juliet  Garrison  with  inscrutable  eyes. 
He  knew  that  his  was  not  the  first  soul  whom  love 
has  disciplined,  which  must,  with  what  grace  it  may, 
acknowledge  the  complacent  peerage  of  one  whose 
life  love  has  merely  lighted. 

At  the  Arcade  depot,  where  he  arranged  for  the 


12  MARGARET 

comfort  of  the  ladies  the  next  evening,  Margaret  bade 
him  a  linger ingly  affectionate  farewell.  "  You  under- 
stand better  than  any  of  them,'*  she  told  him  tremu- 
lously as  she  adjusted  her  veil  with  nervous  fingers. 
"  You  always  do,  Uncle  Rodney." 

A  blond  Hercules  in  new  spring  grays  had  halted 
near  them,  and  Rodney  Garrison  called  her  attention 
to  him,  with  an  obvious  desire  to  change  the  subject. 
"  That's  Bayne  of  the  freight  department.  We're  giv- 
ing him  his  vacation  this  month.  If  there's  any  trou- 
ble about  anything,  let  him  help  you  out." 

The  gate  rolled  back  and  the  next  minute  Margaret 
and  the  two  Peyton  ladies  were  following  the  colored 
porter  to  where  the  north-bound  train  waited.  They 
were  to  spend  a  day  in  San  Francisco  before  making 
the  trip  into  the  valley. 

During  the  first  hour  of  their  journey  the  three  sat 
in  their  drawing  room,  chatting  in  the  desultory 
fashion  of  tourists.  But,  when  the  two  older  ladies 
were  established  with  magazines  for  the  evening, 
Margaret  wandered  out  to  the  observation  car.  Its 
seats  were  all  occupied,  but  at  her  entrance  the  blond 
freight  man  offered  his  chair  and  appropriated  a  camp 
stool  on  the  rear  platform.  One  by  one  the  other  oc- 
cupants of  the  car  strayed  back  to  bed,  but  still  she 
lingered,  dreading  what  threatened  to  be  another  sleep- 
less night.  It  was  almost  eleven  when  she  rose  and 
started  back  to  her  state-room.  The  man  on  the  plat- 


MARGARET  13 

form  followed,  and  swung  open  the  tenacious  door  for 
her.  She  recalled  his  presence  with  a  sudden  start. 
"  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  give  your  seat  to  me  this 
evening,"  she  told  him  with  grave  courtesy.  "  I  hope 
you  haven't  minded — the  platform." 

"  I  like  it,"  he  responded,  evidently  pleased,  but  ill 
at  ease.  Through  the  swaying  Pullmans  they  walked 
in  silence.  At  the  door  of  her  room,  where  she  wished 
him  good-night,  he  stopped  long  enough  to  say,  "  I 
hope  you're  goin'  to  enjoy  the  rest  of  the  trip,  Miss 
Garrison." 

The  words  were  perfunctory  enough,  but  recalling 
them  three  hours  later,  they  seemed  to  her  to  have 
been  freighted  with  portent. 

The  tragedy  occurred  early  the  next  morning  in  the 
tortuous  tunnel  district  near  San  Luis  Obispo. 
The  Los  Angeles  and  San  Francisco  newspapers  gave 
colorful  and  detailed  descriptions  of  the  accident  in 
which  a  spread  rail  resulted  in  precipitating  two  Pull- 
mans over  the  side  of  a  precipice  and  killing  several 
of  their  occupants.  But  to  the  chief  actors  in  the 
drama  the  sequence  of  events  was  not  so  clear. 

Margarets  memories  of  the  catastrophe  were  a 
jumble  of  sensations  in  which  a  thunderous  crash  and 
the  confusion  of  many  voices  played  the  leading  parts. 
The  car  in  which  she  and  the  Peytons  had  their 
rooms,  did  not  leave  the  tracks.  But  just  as  she  threw 
on  her  slippers  and  dark  silk  dressing  gown,  some  one 


14  MARGARET 

burst  in  at  the  door.  "  Hurry ! "  a  peremptory  voice 
commanded  through  the  darkness.  "  There's  not  a 
minute  to  lose ! "  And  then,  without  waiting  for  her 
to  obey,  he  seized  her  by  the  arm  and  hurried  her 
down  the  steep  steps  and  halfway  up  the  sharp  bluff. 

"  But  the  others ! "  she  cried  in  horror,  clinging 
desperately  to  his  arm. 

"  I'll  get  them  out,"  he  assured  her.  "  But  get  up 
to  the  top  of  this.  Hurry!  " 

The  car  had  been  wrenched  free  of  the  others  and 
had  stopped  in  the  narrow  opening  just  outside  a  tun- 
nel, with  a  steep  cliff  on  one  side  and  a  precipice  on 
the  other.  The  only  possible  exit  from  the  scene  now 
was  the  steep  ascent.  For  just  a  moment  she  stood 
there  trying  to  get  her  bearings.  And  then,  gather- 
ing the  dressing  gown  about  her  with  one  hand,  she 
sprang  back  to  the  steps. 

The  next  moments  were  too  full  for  any  thought  of 
self.  Some  of  the  other  women  refused,  hysterically, 
to  leave  the  car.  Others  gazed  at  her  helplessly  as  she 
struggled  with  their  kimonos  and  shoes.  One  woman 
with  a  baby  gave  it  quietly  into  her  charge  while  she 
gathered  her  things  together  for  flight.  The  last 
passenger  was  leaving  the  Pullman  and  Margaret  was 
on  the  steps,  when  the  man  who  had  hurried  her  to 
safety  dashed  down  the  track  toward  the  car.  His 
face  was  red  with  the  strain  of  strenuous  physical 
exertion.  She  let  him  take  her  arm  again  and  help 


MARGARET  15 

her  up  the  cliff.  When  they  reached  the  top,  follow- 
ing the  wild  flight  of  the  other  passengers,  he  drew  a 
long  breath.  "God!  That  was  a  close  shave!"  he 
breathed.  "  But  it's  all  safe  now." 

She  looked  at  him  with  mutely  questioning  eyes. 

"  There's  another  train — a  special,  behind  us.  I 
knew  they  couldn't  get  any  signal,  and  if  they  rounded 
that  curve " 

She  shuddered.     "  And  knowing  that,  you  stopped 

"  Why  did  you  go  back  in  there  ?  "  he  asked  harshly. 

"  I  had  to." 

"  It  might  have  cost  you  your  life." 

She  turned  and  started  slowly  over  the  rocks  on 
the  other  side  of  the  slope.  He  caught  at  her  arm. 
"  Don't  go  down  there." 

"Why  not?" 

"  You're  safe  here  now." 

"  But  those  other  cars — there  are  people  in  them. 
We  must " 

"  Don't  go,"  he  repeated  doggedly. 

She  turned  on  him  in  a  fury.  "  I  will  go — and  help. 
What  right  have  you  to  speak  this  way  to  me?  " 

He  clambered  down  from  the  summit  of  the  bluff 
and  stood  in  her  path.  Then  he  spoke  slowly,  his 
handsome  gray  eyes  fastened  upon  her  face.  "  Only 
the  right  that  every  man  has — to  protect  the  woman 
that  he  loves." 


16  MARGARET 

She  gazed  at  him  as  though  she  feared  he  had  gone 
suddenly  insane.  A  mirthless  little  laugh  escaped 
him.  "  I  suppose  you  think  this  is  kind  of  sudden.  It 
may  be  for  you,  but — I've  been  workin'  for  the  Gar- 
rison company  for  three  months.  But  I  hate  the  city, 
and  I  wouldn't  have  stayed  on  more  than  three  days 
if  I  hadn't  seen  you  the  first  morning  that  I  was 
there.  You  drove  your  uncles  down  to  the  office. 
I've  seen  you  every  day  since — morning  and  night. 
When  I  found  you  were  goin'  on  this  trip,  I  made  'em 
give  me  my  vacation  now.  It  didn't  seem  easy  to 
meet  you  at  home,  but  I  made  up  my  mind  that  out 
in  the  Yosemite  I  could  find  a  way.  I  didn't  plan  to 
have  it  just  like  this,  but " 

There  was  a  sort  of  fascinated  horror  in  her  voice 
as  she  interrupted  him.  "  Down  there,"  she  cried, 
pointing  to  the  precipice,  "  people  are  suffering — 
dying !  And  you  can  stand  here  and  tell  me — this !  " 

She  remembered  that  he  followed  her  on  that  in- 
terminable journey  down  to  the  wrecked  cars,  and 
that  for  what  seemed  hours  they  worked  there  to- 
gether until  the  rescue  train  came. 

The  telegram  which  she  sent  home  later  was  brief, 
but  completely  satisfying  to  the  frenzied  Garrison 
household.  "  Well,  I'm  glad  they  decided  to  go  on 
and  have  their  trip  out,"  Aunt  Juliet  remarked  when 
there  was  a  lull  in  the  incoherent  comments  upon  the 
catastrophe.  "  There's  no  reason  why  they  should 


MARGARET  17 

come  home  since  none  of  them  are  hurt.  They  need 
the  trip  now  more  than  ever.  She  seems  to  be  per- 
fectly calm  about  the  whole  thing." 

"  She's  got  the  Garrison  nerve,"  her  husband  re- 
minded her.  "  She  will  never  break  down  as  long  as 
any  one  needs  her.  When  she  gets  to  the  valley  she'll 
probably  collapse." 

The  first  part  of  this  prophecy  was  verified  the  next 
morning  when  flaring  headlines  described  the  disaster 
in  full,  and  ran  Margaret's  name  in  a  sub-heading, 
linked  with  Frederick  Bayne's,  as  the  ministering 
angel  and  the  courageous  young  railroad*employe,  who 
had  played  the  most  spectacular  roles  in  rescue 
work. 

"  Wire  Bayne  to  extend  his  vacation  over  the  entire 
month,"  Edward  Garrison  instructed  his  secretary 
that  day,  "and  tell  him  we'll  fix  up  the  other  part  of 
our  indebtedness  when  he  comes  home." 

"  That'll  hold  him,  I  guess,"  he  remarked  to  his 
brother.  "  And  I  don't  think  he's  the  type  .of  man 
who  will  turn  down  a  reward." 


II 

FREDERICK  BAYNE  did  not  refuse  to  take  his  re- 
ward, but  he  would  not  accept  the  form  of  recompense 
which  the  Los  Angeles  office  offered  him. 

"  I  don't  want  anything — any  money,"  he  told  the 


i8  MARGARET 

Garrison  brothers,  with  a  curiously  intent  expression 
in  his  fine  eyes.  "  Any  man  in  my  position  would 
have  done  what  I  did.  But  I  might  as  well  tell  you 
now  that  I'm  through  with  the  railroad  business.  It's 
a  good  game  all  right — but  not  for  me.  I've  got  a 
good  apple  ranch  up  Mendocino  way.  My  father  died 
a  year  ago  and  left  me  the  place,  and  it's  been  rented 
till  now  because  my  mother  thought  I  ought  to  have 
a  try  at  city  life.  Well,  she's  had  her  wish  now 
and " 

"  And  you  find  that  it's  not  a  fit?  " 

Edward  Garrison's  voice  was  kind  but  his  keen  eyes 
were  measuring  the  young  man  critically. 

"  No,  I  guess  that's  it."  There  was  a  tinge  of 
bravado  in  the  freight  employe's  voice  that  puzzled 
his  questioner  and  grated  upon  both  the  Garrisons. 
"  Natural  enough  though,"  Rodney  told  himself  tol- 
erantly. "  He's  young,  and  he  knows  he's  done  a  big 
thing."  He  held  out  his  hand.  "  We'll  be  sorry  to 
lose  you,  Mr.  Bayne.  I  think  you  have  a  future  here. 
But  if  it's  all  settled  in  your  mind " 

"  All  but  one  thing."  His  gaze  shifted  nervously. 
"  And  that  thing  is — what  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about." 

In  conference  with  Margaret  upon  the  same  sub- 
ject that  evening,  Uncle  Edward  was  more  emphatic 
than  tactful.  "  Frederick  Bayne  seems  to  have  made 


MARGARET  19 

good  use  of  the  extra  time  we  allowed  him,"  he 
snapped,  when,  by  a  sort  of  tacit  understanding,  they 
met  in  the  library  after  dinner. 

She  met  the  challenge  with  a  ghost  of  a  smile. 
"  Yes,"  she  said  briefly. 

"  But  Margaret,  you  can't  really  care  for  this  man. 
By  one  heroic  act  he  has  swept  you  off  your  feet.  You 
feel  that  you  owe  him  your  life;  perhaps  you  do.  But 
to  marry  him  because  of " 

"  I  am  not  marrying  him  out  of  gratitude,"  she  in- 
terrupted quickly.  "  I  didn't  care  particularly  about 
having  my  life  saved  just  then.  It  isn't  that." 

"What  is  it  then?" 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  "  Uncle  Edward," 
she  said  slowly,  "  you  and  Aunt  Juliet  have  done 
everything  for  me.  I  owe  you  far  more  than  I  can 
ever  repay,  and  I — I  wouldn't  do  anything  that 
you  absolutely  opposed.  If  you  forbid  my  mar- 
riage with  Frederick  Bayne,  I  will  abide  by  your 
wish." 

Like  most  fine  characters,  Edward  Garrison  could 
push  his  own  convictions  with  a  relentless  persistency 
so  long  as  his  adversary  maintained  an  equal  war- 
fare. But  at  the  first  sign  of  advantage  on  his  side, 
he  sheathed  his  weapon. 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  soothed.  "  It  is  your  hap- 
piness that  I  am  seeking.  If  Edith  were  in  your 
place  I  would  say  the  same  thing  to  her.  I  don't  for- 


20  MARGARET 

bid  this  marriage,  but  I  think  it  unsuitable  in  every 
way — preposterous." 

"  Because  Mr.  Bayne  has  held  an  inferior  position 
with  the  company?" 

"  Not  at  all.  In  the  railroad  business  most  men 
begin  at  the  bottom.  The  position  is  not  '  inferior ' 
as  you  call  it.  But,  unless  I  am  very  much  mistaken, 
the  man  is." 

"  You  thought  it  was  fine  of  him  to  refuse  the  re- 
ward." 

"  I  should  think,  Margaret,  that  he  would  feel 
that  he  had  his  reward.  Almost  any  man  can  rise 
to  the  height  of  doing  a  fine  thing  when  he  is  in  love, 
and  especially  when  he  knows  that  the  woman  he 
loves  is  bound  to  hear  about  it." 

"  Uncle  Edward,  I  never  heard  you  say  such  an 
unkind  thing  as  that  before." 

"  I  never  had  such  provocation  before."  He  stood 
frowning  upon  her  from  the  hearthrug,  and  in  spite 
of  her  resentment  she  thought  she  had  never  seen  him 
look  so  handsome,  so  strong,  so  like  a  man  among 
men.  The  fine  hazel  eyes  glowed  under  their  iron 
gray  brows  with  a  sternness  that  would  have  terrified 
any  one  who  knew  him  less  intimately.  But  the  eyes 
of  the  girl,  so  like  his  own,  met  them  without  flinch- 
ing. "You  don't  know  him,"  she  said  steadily. 
"You  are  judging  by  mere  externals.  You  don't 
know  him  as  I  do." 


MARGARET  21 

He  sighed.  "  Now  you  have  played  the  last  argu- 
ment in  the  case,  my  dear.  That's  the  lover's  trump 
card,  and  it  takes  anything  in  the  deck.  As  you  say, 
I  don't  know  him.  He  is  not  in  love  with  me  and 
therefore  I  have  never  seen  him  at  his  best." 

But  with  Uncle  Rodney,  Margaret  came  out  of  the 
encounter  much  less  triumphant.  She  had  gone  up 
to  her  room  after  telling  Edward  Garrison  good-night, 
and  was  sitting  beside  her  trunk  fingering  the  box  of 
souvenirs  of  her  trip  that  she  and  Frederick  Bayne 
had  collected  during  the  long  Spring  days  they  had 
spent  together  in  the  Yosemite.  How  could  they 
know?  she  was  asking  herself  wildly.  How  could 
any  of  them,  this  dearest  family  in  the  world,  guess 
how  she  had  suffered?  It  was  not  only  the  humilia- 
tion of  Richard  Pennington's  disgrace  and  the  revela- 
tion that  he  cared  more  for  position  than  for  her,  but 
the  helplessness  of  her  own  situation.  The  Garrisons 
had  done  enough  for  her.  Nineteen-year-old  Edith 
was  out  now  and  her  interests  should  be  the  very  core 
of  their  lives.  It  wasn't  fair  for  her  now  to  usurp 
the  place  that  rightfully  belonged  to  the  daughter  of 
the  house.  Not  one  of  them  had  ever  hinted,  ever 
looked  this  suggestion,  but  her  own  quivering  sensi- 
bilities were  pain  enough.  Aunt  Juliet  had  seen  to  it 
that  both  she  and  Edith  had  had  a  thorough  training 
in  home-keeping.  But  there  was  no  other  way  out. 
And  now  that  the  glamour  of  romance  was  gone, 


22  MARGARET 

"  Why  I  ought  to  be  grateful,"  she  told  herself.  "  I 
ought  to  be  grateful."  And  she  was  still  repeating 
this  word  like  a  religious  chant  when  Uncle  Rodney 
knocked  at  the  door. 

His  eyes  fell  upon  the  little  cedar  box  which  she 
had  laid  upon  the  table  as  he  entered.  It  was  made 
in  form  of  a  miniature  chest  with  a  tiny  lock  and  key 
and  bits  of  pine  cone  inlaid  on  the  top  to  form  her 
initials.  He  picked  it  up,  scrutinizing  it  intently 
while  he  groped  for  the  opening  words  of  his  errand. 

"  Very  fine  workmanship,"  he  commented,  setting 
it  gently  back  in  its  place.  "Frederick  Bayne  made 
it  for  you?" 

"  Yes."  She  was  nerving  herself  for  the  strain  of 
the  interview. 

He  came  over  and  sat  down  on  the  upholstered  win- 
dow seat  near  her.  A  quick  sympathy  for  his  em- 
barrassment prompted  her  to  help  him.  "  You  came 
to  talk  to  me  about  him,  Uncle  Rodney?" 

"Yes,  about  him;  about  you."  The  tension  was 
broken  now.  He  leaned  toward  her  appealingly. 
"  Margaret,  why  do  you  marry  this  man  ?  " 

Her  reply  came  with  a  promptness  that  surprised 
even  herself.  "  Because  I  think  that  he  is  a  man." 

"  But  his  family !  You  don't  know,  none  of  us 
knows,  anything  about  his  people." 

"  Family  connections  don't  always  seem  to  provide 
assurance  of " 


MARGARET  23 

"  I  know,  dear,"  he  interrupted  hastily.  "  You 
have  a  right  to  feel  a  little  bitter  about  that  just  now. 
And  yet  in  the  long  run  they  do  count — more  than 
anything  else.  They  ought  to.  It  takes  a  long  time, 
long  years  of  right  living  to  establish  a  name  of  honor 
and  integrity  in  a  community.  To  achieve  a  place  of 
distinction  in  the  world,  to  acquire  what  we  call 
'  a  family  name/  is  the  patient  work  of  generations. 
Any  man  who  has  it  in  him  may  make  good,  of  course, 
and  there  always  has  to  be  a  beginning.  But  it's  a 
risky  thing,  a  risky  thing  to  assume  that  when  his 
family  has  no  record  of  achievement  back  of  him,  that 
he  is  going  to  try  to  rise  above  their  level — above  the 
level  of  mediocrity." 

"  To  do  what  Mr.  Bayne  did  on  the  night  of  the 
accident  was  above  mediocrity,  it  seems  to  me." 

"  I  don't  want  to  belittle  it,  my  dear.  That  was  a 
moment  of  stupendous  crisis,  and  he  met  it  like  a  man. 
He  might  prove  himself  willing  again  to  risk  his 
safety  for  yours.  That  is  part  courage  and  part  an 
innate  male  instinct.  But,  Margaret,  life  isn't  a  suc- 
cession of  spectacular  rescue  parties.  Even  at  its 
best  it  is  commonplace;  routine  unembellished  by  the 
dramatic;  that's  what  it  is  most  of  the  time.  Bayne 
may  be  a  man  who  will  wear  well,  but  he  doesn't 
look  like  it  to  me." 

"  I  was  mistaken  once,  Uncle  Rodney,"  she  said 
huskily.  "  But  this  time " 


24  MARGARET 

"  This  time  is  that  time,  I  think.  Richard  Penning- 
ton  came  to  you  a  repentant  sinner.  He  was  over- 
ambitious  for  your  sake.  But  in  attaining  his  goal, 
he  did  nothing  to  hurt  any  one  else.  He  acknowledged 
his  fault  before  the  world  and  also  his  determination 
to  overcome  it.  He  is  a  strong  man  who  stumbled. 
You  have  seen  him  at  his  very  worst.  I  would  con- 
sider him  a  safer  risk  to  tie  to  than  a  man  of  Bayne's 
quality  whom  I  had  seen  only  at  his  super-best.  He 
looks  to  me  like  a  man  who  is  good  because  he  has 
never  attained  to  the  heights  of  great  temptation." 

"  You  don't  know  what  he  might  become  though, 
Uncle  Rodney." 

"No.  And  you  don't  either.  That's  just  the 
trouble.  But  I  do  know  this.  That  if  you  marry 
him,  you  marry  the  whole  Bayne  family,  whoever  they 
may  be.  No  man  or  woman  ever  escapes  doing  that. 
And,  my  dear  child,  he  may  be  a  good  man;  he  may 
always  prove  himself  a  good  man,  but  I  cannot  shut 
my  eyes  to  the  fact  that  he  is  not  a  fine  man,  in  the 
right  sense  of  that  word.  He  lacks  the  fine  sen- 
sibilities that  you  take  as  a  matter-of-course.  In 
the  intimacy  of  marriage —  Margaret,  those  things 
count;  they  count  more  than  anything  to  a  woman 
like  you.  And  it  is  not  for  you  alone  that  I  speak. 
Fortitude,  fineness,  the  capacity  to  suffer  and  be 
strong  under  high  pressure — these  are  not  the  out- 
growth of  sudden  emergency.  They  are  a  long  in- 


MARGARET  25 

heritance,  my  dear,  a  long  inheritance,  and  having 
received  them  as  a  bequest  through  the  patient  toil  of 
generations,  I  say  that  you  have  no  right  to  handicap 
your  children  in  the  race  of  life  by  giving  them  an 
inferior  father." 

A  silence  fell  between  them.  A  long  minute 
throbbed  out  its  life.  Then  Margaret  rose  unsteadily 
and  came  over  to  him.  Only  once  or  twice  before  in 
all  her  life  had  he  seen  tears  in  her  courageous  eyes. 
With  a  cry  of  guilty  pain  he  reached  out  and  drew 
her  down  beside  him.  "  Oh,  Uncle  Rodney,  I  only 
want  to  be  happy !  "  she  cried.  "  I  never  had  anybody 
of  my  very  own,  and  I  want  somebody — I  want " 

He  patted  her  head  in  an  anguish  of  self-reproach. 
"  I  know,  sweetheart,"  he  breathed.  "  Ah,  /  know ! 
I  know!" 

Ill 

THE  house  to  which  Frederick  Bayne  brought  his 
bride  was  a  two-story  structure  made  picturesque  by 
its  non-conformity  to  any  style  of  architecture.  It 
had  been  built  by  a  prosperous  lumberman  some  ten 
years  earlier,  the  nucleus  for  the  present  plan  being 
four  large,  high-ceilinged  rooms  constructed  in  form 
of  a  double  V.  When  a  rise  in  the  price  of  redwood 
made  amplification  possible,  the  two  wings  had  been 
rent  asunder  and  four  new  rooms  reared  themselves 
in  double  story  between  them.  Perched  upon  a  rocky 


26  MARGARET 

bluff,  "  the  old  Hansen  house,"  as  it  was  still  called, 
had  the  appearance  of  a  huge  white  gull,  its  two  wings 
half  outspread  as  though  poised  for  flight.  It  was 
the  most  picturesque  and  inconvenient  dwelling  in 
Rocky  Cove. 

Margaret  Bayne,  viewing  it  in  the  light  of  mid- 
summer sunshine  and  enveloped  in  the  glory  of  a 
"  first  home,"  told  her  husband  that  it  possessed  in- 
finite possibilities. 

"Go  to  it  then,"  he  replied,  with  the  careless 
generosity  that  was  one  of  his  dominant  qualities. 
"  You  know  what  our  stack  is.  Do  whatever  you 
like." 

The  first  number  upon  her  reconstruction  program 
was  the  ordering  of  some  seed  catalogues  from  San 
Francisco.  For  an  enthralling  week  she  pored  over 
these  and  then  she  planted  vines  around  the  bare  front 
porch  and  a  Ragged  Robin  hedge  on  the  side  of  the 
bleak  garden  that  bordered  the  road.  "  It  will  be 
lovely  to  sit  out  here  in  the  summer  evenings,"  she 
said  to  her  husband,  raising  her  glowing  face  from 
her  work  with  the  last  honeysuckle.  "  All  that  this 
porch  needs  is  a  little  softening,  a  little  privacy." 

"  And  a  little  less  wind,"  he  appended. 

"  But  it  isn't  always  as  windy  as  this,  is  it  ?  "  she 
asked,  trying  to  hold  the  flying  strands  of  her  hair  in 
place  with  the  back  of  one  soil-stained  hand.  "  I 
thought  July  was  the  worst  month  here." 


MARGARET  27 

"  Sure,"  he  told  her  with  glib  reassurance.  "  This 
is  the  worst  right  now.  Autumn's  the  season." 

But  he  had  not  been  willing  to  wait  until  Mendo- 
cino's  best  season  to  bring  her  home.  Having  won 
her,  and  the  reluctant  consent  of  the  Garrisons,  he  had 
hurried  her  into  an  immediate  wedding.  Richard 
Pennington  had  been  willing  to  wait  for  her  for  a 
year  while  he  won  laurels  to  lay  at  her  feet.  But 
Frederick  Bayne  would  not  yield  so  much  as  a  month 
and  his  very  importunity  had  warmed  her  frozen 
heart. 

The  marriage  had  taken  place  one  morning  in  the 
Episcopal  church  where  the  family  had  attended  all 
her  life,  and  Uncle  Rodney,  Aunt  Juliet,  and  Edith 
had  been  the  only  witnesses.  Uncle  Edward  had  been 
kind,  but  unreconciled,  and  she  had  refused  the  sub- 
stantial wedding  gift  which  he  proposed.  "  Not 
money,  please,"  she  had  told  him  with  quiet  insistence. 
"  Give  me  some  little  personal  thing  from  you  and 
Aunt  Juliet.  But  I  can't  take  money,  not  from  any 
one  now  but  my  husband." 

"  Poor  child,"  her  aunt  had  sighed  when  he  repeated 
this  message  to  her.  "  I  hope  that  man  will  be  able 
to  take  care  of  her  properly,  for  she'll  never  allow  her 
own  family  to  help  her." 

Uncle  Rodney  had  been  more  fortunate  in  his  selec- 
tion of  a  wedding  present.  On  the  day  before  her 
marriage,  Margaret  had  spent  an  absorbing  morning 


28  MARGARET 

with  him  in  the  Los  Angeles  book  stores  and  the  re- 
sult of  this  expedition  had  arrived  on  the  stage  two 
days  behind  the  bride  and  groom.  "  It  will  be  the 
nucleus  for  a  library,"  Uncle  Rodney  had  said,  as  they 
lunched  together  that  day  in  town.  "A  nucleus!" 
she  had  cried,  looking  at  him  with  glowing  eyes. 
"  Why,  Uncle  Rodney,  it's  a  wonderful  library ! " 

And  now  while  she  planted  honeysuckle  and  red 
ramblers,  Frederick  Bayne  littered  the  front  porch 
with  shavings  and  nails  while  he  evolved  from  red- 
wood boards  a  set  of  shelves  which  were  to  line  the 
wall  space  on  one  side  of  the  living  room  wing. 

"  Guess  we'll  have  to  call  it  the  library  now,"  he 
said  when  on  the  following  afternoon  he  installed  the 
shelves.  "  Sounds  pretty  tony  for  Rocky  Cove,  but 
we  don't  need  to  let  it  get  outside  the  family.  Thought 
of  a  name  for  the  house  yet?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  pressing  her  hands  against 
her  throbbing  temples.  "If  it  doesn't  calm  down  here 
pretty  soon,  I'm  going  to  call  it  West  Winds." 

And  "  West  Winds  "  it  became.  For  as  summer 
drifted  into  autumn  and  autumn  hardened  into  winter, 
it  became  apparent  to  Margaret  that  a  house  that  is 
set  on  a  cliff  cannot  be  hid  from  ocean  gales.  She 
began  to  wear  a  chiffon  veil  wound  about  her  head 
when  she  went  out  to  feed  the  chickens  or  carry  water 
to  the  Ragged  Robin  hedge,  and  to  stuff  cotton  in  her 
ears  when  she  worked  on  the  open  back  porch. 


MARGARET  29 

"  Your  hair's  all  your  own,  what  do  you  care  how 
it  blows  around  ?  "  her  husband  queried  one  day  when 
he  found  her  out  in  the  store-room  with  the  blue  veil 
still  covering  her  head.  She  smiled  back  at  him  with  a 
valiant  attempt  to  respond  to  the  banter  in  his  tone. 
"  But  I'm  too  busy  to  fix  it  more  than  once  a  day 
now/'  she  answered.  And  that  night  while  he  lay 
wrapped  in  the  profound  slumber  of  the  healthily  tired, 
she  pressed  her  hands  against  her  aching  head  in  a 
futile  attempt  to  stop  the  stabbing  pain.  Only  once 
during  that  first  year  did  she  comment  casually  upon 
the  ever-present  neuralgia,  and  then  it  was  when  her 
courage  quailed  before  the  prospect  of  the  six-mile 
drive  to  Four  Corners,  the  nearest  town.  "  Neural- 
gia ! "  he  repeated  absently  as  he  struggled  into  his 
long  coat.  "  I  never  heard  anybody  else  around  here 
complain  of  it.  You'll  get  used  to  the  climate  in  a  few 
more  months." 

But  it  was  not  merely  the  climate  to  which  Mar- 
garet found  it  hard  to  adjust  herself  during  that  first 
year.  She  loved  the  salt  ocean  air,  the  loading  of  the 
lumber  steamers  at  the  Rocky  Cove  landing,  the  walks 
back  in  the  sequoia  grove,  and  the  drives  with  her 
husband  along  the  avenues  of  the  apple  orchard.  But 
he  was  out  most  of  the  day,  and  the  work  of  the  big, 
rambling  house  and  the  preparation  of  three  hearty 
meals  for  six  hungry  men,  filled  her  days  so  completely 
that  at  evening  she  was  almost  alarmed  at  her  weari- 


30  MARGARET 

ness.  The  books  on  the  living  room  shelves  invited 
her  during  those  long  winter  evenings,  but  she  was 
too  tired  to  read.  The  mail  sack  was  thrown  off  at 
the  gate  about  five  o'clock,  and  Frederick  Bayne,  hav- 
ing disgorged  from  it  the  San  Francisco  paper,  devoted 
himself  to  its  columns,  reading  an  occasional  excerpt 
from  the  more  startling  happenings  to  his  wife. 

She  tried  to  take  an  hour  of  rest  every  afternoon, 
but  many  unexpected  tasks  encroached  upon  this  plan. 
Sometimes  an  over-supply  of  cream  made  an  extra 
churning  necessary.  Sometimes  her  husband  asked 
her  to  press  his  suit  for  a  trip  to  Four  Corners.  Count- 
less things  intervened  between  her  and  the  precious 
hour  which  she  told  herself  she  needed  to  keep  from 
getting  into  a  rut. 

The  Petersens,  her  nearest  neighbors,  were  a  mile 
away,  and  when,  after  three  months,  they  showed  no 
disposition  to  call,  Margaret  graciously  took  the  initia- 
tive and  walked  over  to  see  Mrs.  Petersen  one  after- 
noon in  early  October.  She  was  received  by  Nina,  a 
child  of  seven  who,  after  one  glance  at  her  through  the 
screen  door,  had  scuttled  into  the  rear  of  the  house 
calling  to  an  invisible  Somebody  that  there  was  "  a 
lady  all  dressed  up  out  on  the  front  porch." 

When  Mrs.  Petersen,  a  tall,  bony  woman  with  per- 
petually inquiring  eyes,  appeared  at  the  door,  Mar- 
garet found  it  hard  to  overcome  the  unaccountable 
hostility  in  her  eyes. 


MARGARET  31 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Bayne,  your  new  neighbor/'  she  in- 
troduced herself,  when  she  had  been  admitted  into  a 
large  bare  room  with  a  spectacularly  handsome  stone 
fireplace.  "  I  know  that  you  are  very  busy  with  your 
growing  family,  so  I  thought  I'd  be  neighborly  and  not 
wait  for  you  to  call." 

"  Oh,  you're  Fred  Bayne's  wife."  Mrs.  Petersen 
repeated  the  announcement  several  times,  accenting  a 
different  word  at  each  rendering,  as  though  she  were 
trying  dramatic  effects.  "  Well,  I  knew  you  was  here. 
He  said  he  saw  you  one  day  last  week  over  at  Four 
Corners." 

Margaret  was  to  learn  later  that  none  of  the  women 
of  Rocky  Cove  ever  referred  to  their  husbands  by 
name.  The  first  part  of  the  call  promised  disastrous 
failure,  and  Margaret,  sensitive  to  every  shade 
of  the  other  woman's  hostility,  felt  herself  flush- 
ing under  the  candid  appraisal  of  the  china  blue 
eyes. 

"  Mrs.  Petersen,"  she  said,  in  a  sudden  burst  of 
entreaty,  "  everything  up  here  is  new  to  me.  I've 
never  lived  on  a  ranch  before,  and  I  have  so  much  to 
learn.  I  didn't  really  come  to  call.  What  I  really 
came  for  was  to  ask  you  if  you  would  be  willing  to 
help  me  a  little." 

Mrs.  Petersen  had  the  stolid,  unemotional  qualities 
of  the  Norse  temperament.  But  she  was  a  big-hearted 
woman  with  a  passion  for  the  role  of  counselor.  Mar- 


32  MARGARET 

garet  had  pierced  her  in  her  most  vulnerable  spot. 
The  wistful  appeal  in  the  voice  of  this  beautiful  girl 
was  irresistible.  The  remainder  of  the  visit  was  spent 
in  the  kitchen,  the  store-room,  and  the  chicken  yard. 
And  as  Margaret  departed  down  the  back  path,  she 
heard  her  hostess  tell  Oscar  Petersen,  who  had  just 
driven  in  on  the  farm  wagon,  that  although  Fred 
Bayne  had  "  picked  a  city  woman  for  his  wife,  she's 
willin'  to  learn  and  that's  something" 

And  so  the  months  passed.  Gradually  Margaret 
evolved  a  system  which,  although  it  took  all  her  day 
from  five  o'clock  till  late  at  night,  kept  the  machinery 
of  her  husband's  home  running  as  though  on  oiled 
wheels.  And  having  achieved  the  goal  of  his  desires, 
Frederick  Bayne  had,  figuratively  speaking,  drawn  a 
long  breath  and  settled  back  in  his  chair.  He  was 
like  a  man  who  had  seen  a  street  car  passing  half  a 
block  away.  In  that  moment  of  desire,  he  had  been 
willing  to  sweep  all  other  considerations  aside  and 
give  it  a  hot  pursuit.  But  having  swung  himself 
aboard,  he  had  straightway  forgotten  what  manner 
of  car  it  was  and  become  absorbed  in  his  daily  news- 
paper. If  he  noticed  that  his  wife's  delicate  face 
sharpened  during  that  first  year,  he  gave  no  sign  of 
dismay.  Once  when  she  was  dressing  a  cut  on  his 
wrist  he  watched  her  deft,  sympathetic  fingers  with 
amused  tolerance.  "  Don't  be  afraid,"  he  urged  her 
jovially.  "  You're  always  so  afraid  of  givin'  me 


MARGARET  33 

extra  pain.     But  I'm  not  as  easy  hurt  as  you  are, 
Margaret." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  one  of  those  quick,  un- 
readable glances  that  he  had  come  to  know,  but  never 
came  to  understand.  They  made  him  uncomfortable 
and  he  took  refuge  in  the  first  words  that  offered. 
"  Your  hands  don't  look  like  the  same  person,  Mar- 
garet. I  like  to  see  them  soft  and  white  like  they 
used  to  be.  Isn't  there  something  that  you  can  put 
on  'em?" 

"  I  have  put  something  on  them,"  she  told  him 
lightly.  "  I've  put  sapolio  and  kerosene  and  stove 
polish  and  kindling  splinters,  and  none  of  them  seem 
to  do  any  good." 

She  drew  the  bandaged  hand  shyly  toward  her. 
"Oh,  Freddy,"  she  whispered.  "Tell  me  that  you 
love  me.  Tell  me  that  you  love  me  very  much.  We've 
been  married  almost  a  year,  and  you  haven't  told  me 
that  for  a  long  time." 

He  patted  her  shining  hair  with  an  awkward  caress. 
"  You  ought  to  know  I  do,"  he  told  her.  "  You  ought 
to  know  I  do." 

July  came  again,  and  on  the  seventh,  Margaret 
made  a  fruit  cake,  an  elaborate  achievement  of  suc- 
culent raisins  and  citron  and  marvelous  frosting,  fol- 
lowing the  directions  of  one  of  Aunt  Juliet's  recipes. 
She  set  it  in  the  center  of  the  table  with  one  red  candle 
rising  like  a  steeple  out  of  a  snowdrift. 


34  MARGARET 

"  Your  favorite  cake,"  she  told  her  husband  gaily 
when  he  came  in  to  dinner,  pulling  down  the  sleeves 
of  his  striped  shirt.  "  You  must  put  on  a  coat  to- 
night when  you  dine  with  me,  Freddy.  This  is — a 
celebration." 

"  Well,  I'll  be  hanged."  He  stood  looking  down  at 
the  festive  little  table  in  dismay.  "  The  seventh ! 
It  was,  by  George!  And  I  haven't  got  a  thing 
for  you,  Margaret.  Not  a  darn  thing.  I'm  a 
boob!" 

"Yes,  you  have  something,"  she  told  him  in  her 
low,  ardent  voice.  "  You  have  something,  but  you 
haven't  given  it  to  me  yet." 

He  came  around  the  table  and  kissed  her,  and 
rumpled  her  glorious  hair  with  one  clumsy  hand. 

"And  you  have  something  else  for  me,"  she  said. 
"  But  I'll  pilfer  that  from  you  after  dinner." 

He  yielded  to  her  gay  mood,  drank  the  clever  little 
toast  that  she  proposed  to  "  West  Winds,"  and  after 
dinner  helped  her  pile  their  dishes  with  a  wilderness 
of  others  from  the  men's  table  in  the  kitchen,  on  the 
draining  board.  "  No  more  work  tonight,"  she  de- 
creed. "  I'll  have  to  get  up  half  an  hour  earlier  to- 
morrow I  know,  but  they  will  have  to  wait.  I  thought 
I'd  read  aloud  to  you  tonight,  Freddy,  like  I  used  to 
do.  Uncle  Rodney  sent  up  a  new  book  yesterday 
for  an  anniversary  present.  It's  just  short  stories; 
not  a  bit  dull.  I  know  you'll  like  them  if  you'll  just 


MARGARET  35 

listen  to  one.  I  feel  mean  enjoying  them  all  alone. 
Won't  you?" 

"  Sure,  I'll  listen,  if  you  want  me  to."  But  when 
he  had  made  himself  comfortable  in  the  easy  Morris 
chair,  and  when  she  drew  the  lamp  out  of  range 
of  his  eyes  and  was  finding  the  story  that  she  wanted, 
he  asked  an  abrupt  question. 

"What  was  it  you  said  I  was  goin'  to  give  you, 
Margaret?"  She  sat  facing  him,  the  fingers  of  one 
hand  buried  in  the  pages  of  the  book.  "  It's  a  prom- 
ise," she  told  him.  "  A  promise  that " 

"  I  guess  I  know."  He  interrupted  moodily.  "  You 
don't  want  me  to  spend  any  more  evenin's  down  at  the 
Landin'  House.  Why  are  you  so  set  against  it?" 

"  One  reason  is  that  I  hate  the  kind  of  men  who 
hang  around  there  at  night.  They're  the  very  scum 
of  this  place.  You  know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  I 
don't  like  to  have  my  husband  classed  with  them, 
Freddy.  Some  of  them  are  always  carried  home 
drunk ;  you've  told  me  so  yourself." 

"  Well,  I've  never  been  one  of  them,  have  I  ?  " 

"Of  course  not,  dear.  I'm  not  accusing  you  of 
anything  bad.  But  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  your  taking 
the  kind  of  pleasures  those  men  take.  And  you  can't 
enjoy  it,  Fred."  There  was  entreaty  in  her  voice 
now,  as  though  she  were  calling  upon  him  to  settle 
forever  a  subject  which  she  had  long  debated.  "  You 
can't  enjoy  those  men," 


36  MARGARET 

"  Wherever  you  live  you've  got  to  mix  around  with 
the  other  people  that  live  there/'  he  told  her  sullenly. 
r'You  do  pretty  well  for — the  family  that  you  come 
from,  Margaret,  but  at  heart  you're  a  snob." 

She  winced  under  the  sting  of  it,  but  when  she 
spoke,  her  voice  was  quietly  controlled.  "  I  don't 
think  Mrs.  Petersen  and  the  other  women  of  the 
Swedish  colony  call  me — that.  When  the  measles  epi- 
demic was  on  they  trusted  me  to  sit  up  with  their  chil- 
dren at  night,  and  when  I  started  the  Neighborhood 
Club,  they  were  all  glad  to  meet  here  on  Thursday 
afternoons.  I  don't  want  to  be  aloof,  Fred.  But  the 
people  here  have  so  few  advantages;  it  seems  to  me 
we  ought  to  give  them  our  very  best,  not  be  content 
to  take  their  worst." 

"You'll  beat  your  heart  out  tryin'  to  raise  people 
up  to  meet  your  ideas  of  what  they  ought  to  be,"  he 
warned  her.  "  Why  can't  you  take  'em  as  you  find 
'em  ?  That's  my  motto,  and  believe  me,  it's  the  easiest 
way." 

There  was  a  long  silence  between  them.  The  little 
flame  of  gaiety  which  she  had  coaxed  into  life  for 
this  night  of  nights,  had  flickered  out.  She  stared  out 
the  window  into  the  blackness  as  though  she  were 
afraid  to  bring  her  eyes  back  to  the  man  in  the  Morris 
chair. 

"  I  am  not  thinking  only  of  you,  Fred,  and  not 
at  all  of  myself.  We  must  think  deeper  than  that  now. 


MARGARET  37 

If  we  are  going  to  live  here  all  our  lives  we  must 
make  this  a  better  place  for  our  children  to  live  in. 
We  owe  it  to  them  to  surround  them  with  the  right 
ideals,  the  right  standards.  It  will  be  hard  to  teach 
a  girl  the  sacredness  of  family  life  in  a  place  where 
family  relations  are  so  irregular,  so  casual  as  they 
are  here.  It  will  be  hard  to  teach  a  boy  fidelity  to  the 
marriage  vow  in  a  place  where  he  sees  it  so  lightly 
broken." 

"  You* re  prejudiced  against  this  place !  "  he  cried 
hotly.  "  You  expect  the  people  here  to  have  just  the 
same  ideas  that  they  have  in  cities  where  everything 
is  different.  Up  here,  a  forty-mile  stage  drive  from 
the  nearest  train,  you  ask  just  as  much  of  people  as 
you  would  in  your  own  home.  It's  too  much.  It's  too 
much.  You  can't  change  nature ;  you'll  have  to  change 
yourself." 

She  was  looking  at  him  now,  all  her  startled  soul 
burning  in  her  eyes.  Slowly  her  fingers  slipped  from 
the  leaves  of  her  book  and  it  glided  unnoticed  to  the 
floor.  "  You — you  don't  mean  that,  Frederick.  You 
don't  mean — that  you  really  feel  that  way." 

"  I  thought  you  were  goin'  to  read  something"  he 
cut  in  sharply. 

She  reached  for  Uncle  Rodney's  book  and  laid  it 

on  the  table  under  the  lamplight.  "  I  was But  I 

feel — very  tired.  I  think,  if  you  don't  mind,  that  I'll 
go  to  bed." 


38  MARGARET 

The  next  morning  when  they  met  at  the  breakfast 
table,  Frederick  Bayne  glanced  at  his  wife  with  uneasy 
eyes.  "  You  didn't  get  enough  sleep  last  night,  Mar- 
garet. Why  did  you  get  up  so  early?  The  dishes 
could  have  waited." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  absently.  "  It  wasn't  the 
dishes.  But  I  thought  I  might  as  well  get  up  because 
I  couldn't  sleep.  There  is  so  much  to  think  about 
now.  I  dropped  off  for  a  little  while  after  midnight, 
but  those  dogs  of  the  Petersens'  woke  me.  There  is 
no  reason  why  they  should  come  up  here  at  night, 
Fred,  and  they  make  so  much  noise.  I've  mentioned 
this  to  you  before.  I  don't  want  to  be  unreasonable, 
but  I  ought  to  get  more  sleep,  and  it's  just  that  the 
Petersens  don't  think  about  it.  They're  all  such 
healthy  people  themselves  and  not  nervous,  so  they 
don't  think.  Please  ask  him  today  to  chain  his  dogs 
at  night." 

"Well— I'll  see,"  he  promised  vaguely.  "Peter- 
sen's  a  good  neighbor  and  I  don't  like  to  make  him 
mad.  You  oughtn't  to  let  yourself  get  into  that  state, 
Margaret." 

She  did  not  mention  the  subject  again  for  a  week. 
And  then,  on  Sunday  morning,  her  husband,  shaken 
out  of  his  customary  complacency  by  the  haggard  look 
in  her  face,  was  moved  to  further  remonstrance. 
"  You  ought  to  take  some  medicine,  or  something 
to  make  you  sleep.  I'll  get  somethin*  for  you 


MARGARET  39 

at  Four  Corners  this  afternoon  if  you'll  tell  me 
what." 

She  had  poured  his  coffee  and  a  second  cup  for 
herself,  but  her  breakfast  was  congealing,  untasted, 
on  her  plate.  "  It  isn't  drugs  that  I  need,  Fred,"  she 
said  quietly.  "  I  won't  let  myself  get  into  the  habit 
of  taking  anything  like  that.  All  I  need  is  the  chance 
to  sleep — quiet." 

His  spoon  dropped  into  the  saucer  with  a  crash  that 
made  her  jump.  "  I  s'pose  what  you're  drivin'  at  is 
those  dogs  of  Petersen's ! "  he  cried  in  a  sudden  fury. 
''  You  want  me  to  break  up  friendly  relations  with  a 
good  neighbor  by  makin'  a  fuss  over  a  little  thing 
like  that!  He's  more  touchy  about  those  dogs  than 
he  is  about  his  own  children !  We've  got  to  live  next 
to  those  people  all  our " 

"  Frederick !  Stop !  "  It  was  the  new  tone  in  her 
voice  that  halted  his  flood  of  anger  in  mid-stream. 
And  the  look  in  her  eyes  brought  a  slow  flame  to  his 
face.  In  the  voice  of  the  Garrisons,  of  people  long 
trained  to  control  of  self  and  command  of  others,  she 
spoke  to  this  man  to  whom  she  had  reached  down  and 
made  her  husband. 

"  Stop  right  where  you  are.  You  have  said  enough, 
acted  enough  to  convince  me  that  you  care  more  for 
the  good  will  of  these  people  than  you  do  for  my  com- 
fort. At  this  time,  if  at  no  other,  my  health  ought  to 
be  your  chief  consideration.  I  have  discovered  that  it 


40  MARGARET 

isn't.  But  I  have  discovered  something  else  during 
these  past  weeks  that  hurts  me  far  worse  than  this. 
You  think  that  it  is  kindliness  that  prompts  your  con- 
sideration of  these  neighbors.  But  it  isn't  kindness — 
it  is  cowardice.  You  are  afraid  of  a  fuss.  Afraid 
of  making  trouble.  I  have  discovered  that — I  am 
married  to  a  weakling !  " 

If  he  had  denied  it  with  an  oath,  if  he  had  ac- 
knowledged it  and  sought  her  pardon,  she  could  have 
forgiven  him.  But  he  did  that  thing  which  put  him 
forever  beyond  the  pale  of  her  hopefulness.  He 
pushed  back  his  chair  and  came  over  to  her.  Without 
daring  to  touch  the  hand  lying  cold  as  ice  upon  the 
tablecloth,  he  said  soothingly,  "  I  won't  argue  with 
you,  Margaret,  because  I  know  that  you're  not  your- 
self. You'll  feel  better  soon.  After  September,  you'll 
be  feelin'  better." 

Three  months  later  Margaret's  child  was  born.  A 
week  passed  before  she  came  back  from  the  dim  bor- 
derline of  death  and  showed  any  interest  in  it.  Then 
Mrs.  Petersen,  who  had  been  the  only  available  nurse, 
announced  to  her  that  "  you  got  the  finest  little  girl 
I  ever  see,"  and  Margaret's  arms  closed  convulsively 
around  the  tiny  bundle.  "  God  help  her !  "  she  whis- 
pered passionately. 

>f  You  goin'  to  call  her  by  some  fancy  name  out  of 
a  book?"  her  husband  asked  on  the  day,  a  month 
later,  that  she  came  downstairs  for  the  first  time.  It 


MARGARET  41 

was  characteristic  of  him  that  he  left  the  naming  of 
their  child  to  her,  and  that  he  assured  her,  with  his 
easy-going  good  humor,  that  whatever  she  decided 
upon  would  be  a  "  go  "  with  him. 

From  the  depths  of  the  Morris  chair  she  looked  up 
at  him  with  eyes  that  her  colorless  cheeks  seemed  to 
have  made  larger  and  darker.  "  No,"  she  told  him 
gently.  "  No  name  out  of  a  book.  I  am  going  to  call 
her — Fredrica." 

The  unexpectedness  of  it  pierced  the  armor  of  his 
self -content  as  nothing  else  could  have  done.  Some- 
thing of  the  humility  that  must  have  been  his  when 
he  first  won  her  was  in  his  voice  as  he  murmured, 
"Why — you  don't  want  her  to  grow  up  like  me,  do 
you,  Margaret?  You  want  her  to  grow  up  better 
than  me." 

"  I  want  her  to  grow  up  better  than  either  of  us," 
she  responded.  But  her  eyes  measured  him  with  a 
curious  intensity  as  though  she  was  trying  to  read  in 
his  face  the  answer  to  her  desperate  question :  "  Will 
this  incentive  fail  too  ?  " 

During  the  first  three  years  of  her  life  little  Fred- 
rica wore  only  the  sheer  white  garments  that  came  in 
the  boxes  from  Aunt  Juliet.  The  Garrisons  had  moved 
to  Chicago,  and  Margaret,  bereft  now  of  her  long  de- 
ferred visit  home,  accepted  these  gifts  from  the  dear 
aunt-mother  as  the  child's  rightful  heritage.  She 
looked  forward  to  the  quarterly  express  packages  with 


42  MARGARET 

the  eagerness  of  a  girl.  Uncle  Rodney  had  died  sud- 
denly the  year  after  her  baby  was  born,  and  she 
had  grieved  over  his  passing  with  an  almost  mor- 
bid sense  of  impoverishment.  The  parcels  from 
Aunt  Juliet  were  the  last  link  that  bound  her  to  the 
past. 

During  the  child's  fourth  year,  Frederick  Bayne's 
mother  came  up  from  Petaluma  to  visit  at  West 
Winds,  and  one  day  Margaret  heard  her  protesting  to 
her  son  about  the  fine  little  dresses  and  the  silk-and- 
wool  petticoats. 

"  That  child  ought  to  be  in  over-halls,  Fred/'  she 
remonstrated  in  her  high-pitched,  plaintive  voice. 
"  She  ain't  livin'  in  a  city.  If  Margaret  didn't  have 
to  do  so  much  washin'  for  her  she  wouldn't  have  to 
send  the  sheets  and  table  linen  out.  It's  awful  tony 
havin'  washin'  done  away  from  home,  even  if  it  is 
a  Chinese  laundry." 

"  Well,  you  fight  it  out  with  her,  mother,"  her 
son  advised,  with  his  instinctive  adherence  to  the  line 
of  least  resistance.  "  I  never  draw  the  purse-strings 
very  tight,  you  know." 

But  when  the  elder  Mrs.  Bayne  encountered  her 
daughter-in-law  a  few  moments  later,  something  in 
Margaret's  face  made  her  decide  to  postpone  her  pro- 
test concerning  Fredrica's  mode  of  dress. 

"I  guess  she's  got  a  right  to  rig  her  up  as  she  likes," 
she  told  herself  philosophically.  "  If  she  don't  mind 


MARGARET  43 

the  extra  work,  I  oughtn't  to.  And  Fred  don't  care. 
He  always  was  easy-handed  with  money." 

But  she  could  not  forbear  comment  upon  the  unex- 
pected evidences  of  Margaret's  wifely  training. 
"  You've  sure  got  Fred  well  broke,  Margaret ;  bringin' 
in  the  wood  for  you  like  he  does  and  always  hitchin'  up 
for  you  when  you  want  to  go  to  town — I  never  could 
get  any  of  my  menfolks  to  wait  on  me  that  way." 

And  she  was  voicing  the  universal  opinion  of  the 
community.  Among  the  households  of  Rocky  Cove 
Frederick  Bayne  was  counted  a  model  husband.  For 
although  Margaret  made  the  comfort  of  his  home  and 
the  care  of  their  child  her  whole  concern,  she  had 
never  included  in  her  duties  the  function  of  family 
door-mat.  To  demand  these  attentions  from  her  hus- 
band was  as  instinctive  with  her  as  to  yield  good- 
naturedly  to  them  was  with  him.  And  the  elder  Mrs. 
Bayne,  watching  his  matter-of-course  performance  of 
what  she  called  "  house  tricks/'  shook  her  head  and 
commented  humorously  to  herself  upon  the  unaccount- 
ability  of  sons. 

To  Fredrica,  a  shy,  intense  child,  the  voluble  visitor 
was  a  strange,  half -fearful  personage.  Though  she 
had  come  laden  with  bright-colored  beads,  picture 
books  and  a  doll  that  could  close  its  eyes,  as  gifts  for 
this  first  grandchild,  and  although  Fredrica  had  ac- 
cepted them  all  with  grave  thanks,  she  was  not  respon- 
sive to  the  old  woman's  insistent  caresses. 


44  MARGARET 

"  Why,  sweetheart,  you  mustn't  run  away  when 
you  hear  grandmother  calling  you,"  Margaret  reproved 
her  gently  one  day.  "  You  are  her  little  girl  too. 
You  must  love  grandma." 

The  child  went  obediently  and  sat  on  the  visitor's 
lap  then,  and  answered  her  volley  of  questions  as  best 
she  could.  But  that  night  when  she  said  her  prayers, 
her  mother  was  startled  at  the  new  petition  appended 
at  the  very  end.  "  And  bless  grandma  too,  and  help 
her  not  to  make  me  so  tired  tomorrow." 

At  the  end  of  that  year  Margaret  reluctantly  gave 
up  her  baby,  bobbed  the  heavy  chestnut  hair,  dressed 
her  in  coarse  ginghams  and  turned  her  loose  on  the 
hundred  and  sixty  acre  ranch  to  grow  sturdy.  But 
although  Fredrica  played  see-saw  with  the  boards  dis- 
carded by  the  big  planing  mill,  and  rode  on  the  rotary 
harrow  after  they  plowed  the  apple  orchard,  and 
learned  to  climb  the  branchless  trunks  of  redwoods, 
she  remained  ineradicably  feminine.  In  her  seventh 
year  when,  after  a  long  winter  of  illness,  her  mother 
called  her  to  her  bedside  to  trim  the  neglected  hair 
and  found  it  a  mass  of  shining  curls,  she  substituted  a 
hair  ribbon  for  shears,  and  began  calling  her  Freda. 
Of  both  these  innovations  Frederick  Bayne  expressed 
unqualified  approval  and  the  prediction  that  "  If  that 
girl  grows  up  as  pretty  as  she  is  now,  she'll  have  all 
the  fellers  in  Rocky  Cove  standin'  on  their  heads." 

But  Freda  had  already  begun  to  spell  out  the  stories 


MARGARET  45 

in  some  of  her  mother's  books  now,  and  was  more  in- 
terested in  following  the  fortunes  of  "  Black  Beauty  " 
and  "  Alice  in  Wonderland  "  than  in  transforming  the 
youth  of  Rocky  Cove  into  acrobatic  experts. 

It  was  that  same  winter  that  her  father,  coming  back 
one  evening  from  Four  Corners,  handed  Margaret  a 
telegram.  It  notified  them  of  the  death  of  Mrs.  Bayne. 
Margaret  read  it  as  she  stood  at  the  kitchen  table 
where  she  had  been  kneading  bread.  Then  with 
something  of  the  old  impulsiveness  of  their  early  mar- 
ried days,  she  came  over  and  put  her  arms  about  his 
neck.  "  Poor  Freddy !  "  she  murmured,  as  she  might 
have  soothed  a  crying  child.  "  My  poor  Fred !  But 
at  least  you  have  the  memory  of  a  mother,  dear,  and 
that  must  be  a  wonderful  thing!  " 

That  night  while  they  were  undressing  for  bed  she 
returned  again  to  the  subject  of  his  loss.  u  This  leaves 
your  young  brother  Avery  all  alone,  doesn't  it?" 

He  nodded. 

"How  old  is  he?" 

"Fifteen!" 

A  little  cry  of  pity  escaped  her.  "  Oh,  that's  a 
hard  age,  a  hard  age  for  a  boy  to  be  left  without  his 
mother !  We  must  have  him  with  us." 

He  shot  her  a  glance  of  quick  gratitude.  "  Would 
you  be  willin',  Margaret?  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  do 
for  him  now,  but — I  wondered  if  you'd  be  willin'  to 
take  on  the  care  of  a  boy?  " 


46  MARGARET 

"  Why,  it's  the  only  thing  to  do,  Fred.  And  only 
eight  years  older  than  Freda — he'll  be  just  like  a  big 
brother  to  her." 

She  went  on  talking  out  the  plan  with  him,  reassur- 
ing him,  persuading  him  easily  that  this  extra  respon- 
sibility would  not  be  too  much  for  her.  And  long 
after  he  was  asleep,  she  lay  awake,  wondering  about 
the  boy,  planning  for  his  comfort.  And  before  uncon- 
sciousness enveloped  her,  she  told  herself  wearily, 
"  Perhaps  if  I  take  a  Bayne  young  enough  I  can  make 
something  out  of  him." 

The  coming  into  her  life  of  this  young  uncle  was 
Freda's  first  clear  memory  of  her  childhood.  He  had 
the  Bayne  good  nature,  their  blond  good  looks,  and 
their  easy-going  liberality.  But  he  was  more  demon- 
strative than  his  brother  and  more  secretive.  To 
Freda  he  was  almost  a  supernatural  being,  and  he  came 
to  West  Winds  enveloped  in  the  mysterious  glamour 
of  bereavement. 

During  that  first  month  he  stood  in  awe  of  Mar- 
garet and  treated  Freda  with  a  sort  of  tolerant  pity. 
But  in  the  end  they  both  won  him,  and  slowly  he  began 
to  adjust  himself  and  to  feel  himself  a  part  of  this 
new  environment.  At  the  Christmas  party,  the  Easter 
egg  hunt,  and  the  Fourth  of  July  picnic  to  which  Mar- 
garet invited  the  wondering  children  of  Rocky  Cove 
each  year,  he  gave  enthusiastic  assistance.  It  was  he 
who  stealthily  hid  the  tree  out  in  the  woodshed  on 


MARGARET  47 

Christmas  Eve,  who  drove  to  Four  Corners  one 
stormy  April  day  for  a  new  kind  of  egg  dye,  and  who 
made  a  croquet  court  under  the  sequoias  in  the  picnic 
grounds. 

"  Say,  I  don't  think  the  kids  around  here  appreciate 
all  you  do  for  'em,  Margaret,"  he  protested  on  the  day 
that  he  finished  this  task  under  her  direction  and  they 
sat  down  to  rest  on  a  fallen  log  in  the  clump  of  giant 
redwoods  that  Margaret  had  christened  "  The  Chapel." 
"  Why  do  you  go  to  all  the  bother?  " 

"  I  don't  expect  them  to  appreciate  it  now,  Avery," 
she  explained.  "  But  when  they  are  grown-up  men  and 
women  they  will  remember  these  little  parties.  That's 
why  I  do  it." 

"  You're  a  brick,"  he  told  her.  "  Say,  you'd  make 
a  wonderful  man/' 

And  Margaret  acknowledged  this  compliment 
gravely,  for  she  knew  it  was  the  greatest  flattery  which 
man  ever  offers  woman. 

It  was  that  same  summer  that  she  and  Freda  spent 
the  wonderful  week  in  San  Francisco.  Cousin  Edith 
was  married  and  living  there  now  and  her  urgings, 
combined  with  a  sharp  admonition  from  the  doctor 
at  Four  Corners  to  Frederick  Bayne,  concerning  the 
state  of  his  wife's  health,  resulted  in  this  adventurous 
trip  by  stage  and  train  and  ferry. 

"  A  whole  week!  That  ought  to  set  me  up!  "  Mar- 
garet cried  gaily  to  Cousin  Edith  that  night  when  they 


48  MARGARET 

were  putting  Freda  to  bed  in  the  dainty  guest  room. 
And  Cousin  Edith,  looking  at  her  through  a  mist  of 
tears  that  the  child  could  not  understand,  agreed  cyn- 
ically, "  Yes,  a  week  ought  to  do  wonders  after  only 
eight  years  of — that." 

They  were  a  wonderful  seven  days.  And  it  was 
not  alone  the  glittering  city  with  the  innumerable  ave- 
nues of  pleasure,  its  fairylike  shop  windows  and  the 
friendly  throngs  upon  its  streets  that  fascinated  Freda. 
The  most  bewildering  and  unexpected  thing  of  all  was 
the  revelation  which  it  gave  her  of  her  mother.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  life  she  saw  this  intimate  compan- 
ion of  her  childhood  in  the  light  of  a  social  being. 
Mother,  the  honored  guest  at  a  luncheon  party; 
mother,  invited  to  spend  the  night  at  one  of  the  hand- 
somest homes  in  Piedmont ;  mother,  in  trim  tailor  suit, 
and  stealthily  rubbing  lemon  on  her  hands  at  night; 
mother,  so  at  ease  amid  the  perplexing  ways  of  the 
city ;  these  were  memories  that  she  liked  to  recall  long 
afterward  to  sweeten  some  of  the  years  that 
followed. 

A  week  was  all  too  short  to  include  all  the  plans 
which  had  been  made  by  "  mother  "  and  Cousin  Edith, 
but  they  seemed  to  stretch  their  hours  as  though  eager 
to  crowd  all  the  happiness  they  could  into  the  life  of 
the  little  girl  who  was  seeing  the  gay,  friendly  city 
for  the  first  time,  and  the  woman  who  was  seeing  it 
for  the  last. 


MARGARET  49 

They  came  home  on  the  midnight  stage,  and  Mar- 
garet hurried  Freda  up  to  bed,  and  then  went  into  the 
living  room,  shivering  under  the  inadequate  protection 
of  the  tailor  suit  coat.  She  found  her  husband 
stretched  out  in  front  of  the  fireplajce  in  the  old 
Morris  chair,  the  day-old  city  paper  crumpled  down 
beside  him.  The  fire  had  long  since  gone  out  and  the 
room  was  very  cold.  The  lamp  that  should  have  been 
filled  and  shining  with  welcoming  light,  loaded  the  air 
with  the  stifling  odor  of  burning  wick. 

Margaret's  eyes  rested  upon  the  sprawling  figure  in 
the  chair  with  an  expression  which  they  only  wore  in 
moments  when  they  were  off-guard.  Affection  had 
long  since  faded  out  of  them  and  in  its  place  was 
maternal  pity;  that  pearl  with  which  women  of  her 
type  mend  their  shattered  dreams. 

As  if  the  quiet  tensity  of  her  gaze  had  pierced  his 
consciousness,  Frederick  Bayne  sat  suddenly  upright. 
"  Oh,  you're  home,  Margaret.  Lord,  I'm  glad !  I 
haven't  had  a  square  meal  for  a  week.  I  was  listenin' 
for  the  stage.  It's  cold  as  the  devil  in  here.  Let's  go 
to  bed." 

He  stumbled  upstairs  with  a  lighted  candle  in  his 
hand  and  she  lingered  a  moment  to  pick  up  the  fallen 
paper.  Something  on  its  front  page  caught  her  eye. 
She  remembered  now  that  Edith  had  not  seemed  able 
to  find  this  paper  for  her  when  she  had  asked  for  it. 
But  standing  there  beside  the  odorous  lamp,  in  the 


50  MARGARET 

bleak,  deserted  room,  she  read  the  story  now,  devoured 
its  every  word  with  hungry  eyes. 

Upstairs  Frederick  Bayne  lay  awake  listening  for 
his  wife's  step,  but  there  was  no  sound.  For  a  long 
flight  of  stairs  and  a  closed  door  were  between  him 
and  the  woman  who  had  thrown  herself  upon  her 
knees  beside  the  shabby  chair  with  a  paper  crumpled 
in  her  hand  and  was  sobbing  out  a  passionate  prayer. 

"  Oh,  God,  will  I  be  able  to  keep  strong  and  brave 
until  the  end?  Will  I  be  able  to  fight  the  thing  that 
is  in  my  heart  now — for  the  sake  of  my  little  girl?  " 


PART  TWO:    FREDERICK 


IV 

THE  year  that  followed  Margaret's  visit  to  San 
Francisco  was  a  hard  season  for  the  Mendocino  apple 
growers.  A  form  of  blight,  hitherto  unknown  there, 
infested  the  orchards,  and  a  strike  among  the  pickers 
delayed  the  hauling  contracts.  Under  the  strain  of 
these  anxieties  Frederick  Bayne's  temper  sharpened. 
The  amiability  of  his  earlier  years  broke  beneath  the 
incessant  pressure  of  ranch  problems.  During  that 
season  and  the  three  which  succeeded  it,  he  became 
silent,  almost  morose.  For  the  first  time  since  the 
Baynes  had  owned  it,  West  Winds  was  covered  by  a 
mortgage.  Freda  began  to  steal  away  and  hide  herself 
with  her  books  when  she  heard  her  father  come  into 
the  house. 

But  Avery,  out  of  school  now  and  working  as  clerk 
in  the  general  grocery  store  at  Four  Corners,  did  not 
take  his  brother's  shifting  moods  so  seriously.  He 
treated  his  occasional  outbursts  of  ill  humor  with  care- 
less unconcern.  He  had  reached  what  Frederick 
Bayne  termed  "  the  no  'count  age,"  and  was  more 
concerned  with  getting  up  dances  at  Hopkins  Pavilion, 
the  junction  of  the  two  stage  lines,  than  inscribing  his 
name  upon  a  page  of  local  Bradstreet.  He  was  easily 

53 


54  FREDERICK 

the  best  looking  young  fellow  in  Rocky  Cove  and  he 
had  a  happy-go-lucky  disregard  of  his  weekly  wage, 
which  appalled  and  fascinated  the  daughters  of  the 
hard-working  lumbermen  and  orchardists. 

"  You'll  never  amount  to  a  hill  of  beans,"  his 
brother  predicted  with  stormy  conviction  one  night, 
when  he  learned  from  the  irate  merchant  at  Four  Cor- 
ners that  Avery  had  stolen  away  on  a  fishing  trip  that 
afternoon  when  he  was  supposed  to  be  delivering  a 
wagonload  of  potatoes.  "  You'll  never  amount  to  any- 
thing." 

"  Shucks !  "  the  culprit  remarked  contemptuously. 
"  You  act  as  if  you'd  never  done  anything  but  grind 
all  your  life.  I'll  bet  when  you  were  my  age " 

"I  never  sneaked  away  to  enjoy  myself,"  his  ac- 
cuser interrupted  hotly. 

"  No,  that  don't  happen  to  be  your  way  of  doin'. 
But  I  don't  see  that  that  part  of  it  makes  much  dif- 
ference. You  have  your  kind  of  high  jinks  and  I've 
got  mine.  Fishin',  even  when  you're  supposed  to  be 
doin'  somethin'  else,  isn't  any  worse  than  spendin* 
every  night  down  at  that  old  Landin'  House  playin' 
cards  with  '  Whisky  Pete '  and  the  others." 

"You  shut  up  about  that  Landin'  House.  I'm  of 
an  age  when  what  I  do  don't  hurt  me,  and  I'm  sick  of 
hearin'  about " 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  be  sick  of  hearin' 
about  it,"  Avery  cut  in  with  unperturbed  insolence., 


FREDERICK  55 

"  Margaret  never  mentions  it  to  you.  Gee !  This 
must  be  some  gay  joint  for  her  in  the  evenin's;  nobody 
home  but  the  kid.  I  guess  I  haven't  got  anything  on 
you,  Fred,  about  cuttin'  out  when  I  get  tired  of  things. 
But  maybe  when  I  get  to  your  age  I'll  be  willin'  to 
settle  down." 

At  dinner  that  night  Margaret  looked  from  one 
sulky  face  to  the  other  and  inwardly  sighed.  "  Avery's 
at  a  trying  age  I  know,  Fred,"  she  said  that  night 
when  they  had  gone  up  to  bed.  "  But  if  you're  not 
careful  you'll  drive  him  away  from  you." 

"Avery's  almost  twenty  years  old.  It's  time  for 
him  to  quit  actin'  like  a  kid  now  and  steady  down. 
You  don't  seem  to  consider  me  at  all,"  he  went  on, 
jerking  off  his  heavy  shoes  and  dropping  them  on  the 
floor  with  an  ugly  crash.  "  Nobody  in  this  house  con- 
siders me  and  I've  got  enough  worries  to  drive " 

"  Everybody  considers  you,  Fred,"  she  interrupted 
quietly.  "  You  are  always  the  first  consideration. 
Freda  is  getting  to  be  actually  afraid  of  you.  You 
don't  mean  to  be  unkind,  but  she  is  a  sensitive  child 
and  she  feels  things  that " 

"  She'll  have  to  get  over  it.  This  isn't  any  place 
for  touchy  people." 

"  That  is  true.  I  wish  to  heaven  she  could  get  over 
it,  as  you  say,  but  it  isn't  as  easy  as  that.  I  know  you 
are  worried  much  of  the  time,  but  so  am  I." 

"You!"    He  turned  on  her  in  dull  astonishment. 


56  FREDERICK 

"  I'll  always  keep  a  roof  over  your  head.  What  have 
you  got  to  worry  about?  " 

Ten  years  ago  the  words  would  have  stabbed  her 
to  the  quick.  But  with  loss  of  affection,  goes  loss  of 
power.  It  was  no  longer  possible  for  him  to  inflict 
more  than  a  flesh  wound. 

As  she  lay  pondering  that  challenge  in  the  darkness 
it  seemed  almost  terrible  in  its  utter  non-comprehen- 
sion. "  What  have  you  got  to  worry  about  ?  " 

She  recalled  the  night,  that  blinding  night  of  her 
return  from  the  one  vacation  of  her  married  life  when, 
down  in  the  bleak  living  room,  she  had  read  of  Richard 
Pennington's  election,  by  an  overwhelming  majority, 
to  the  United  States  senate.  In  that  moment  of  her 
thrilling  joy  and  pride  in  him,  while  she  gloried  in 
the  knowledge  that  he  had  won,  under  heavy  handicap, 
the  goal  he  had  set  for  himself,  there  had  come  to  her 
a  revelation  that  had  brought  her  to  her  knees  in  ter- 
rified supplication.  In  that  moment  she  knew  that 
whether  his  struggle  had  ended  in  defeat  or  success, 
she  had  never  succeeded  in  driving  him  from  her 
heart;  that  she  loved  him  and  always  would.  The 
pride  in  him,  the  fight  in  him,  the  man — they  belonged 
to  her,  as  he  had  once  told  her,  and  she  belonged  to 
them.  She  knew  too  that  he  was  free,  that  he  had 
kept  in  touch  with  her  life,  and  that  she  still  possessed 
the  power  to  summon  him  back  to  her.  But  it  was 
not  the  possibility  of  such  weakening  that  had  terrified 


FREDERICK  57 

her.  To  women  of  Margaret  Bayne's  type  it  is  not 
the  letter  of  the  law,  but  its  spirit,  that  they  hold  in- 
violate. To  live  out  her  life  in  a  loveless  but  loyal 
union  with  the  man  who  was  her  husband  but  never 
her  mate,  promised  a  hopeless,  hungry  future,  but 
one  which  whole-souled  consecration  almost  glorified. 
But  to  live  with  him,  knowing  that  her  heart  belonged 
irrevocably,  uncontrollably  to  another,  seemed  a  thing 
intolerable — a  self -desecration.  The  unresponsive- 
ness,  the  undemonstrativeness  that  had  once  starved 
and  frozen  her,  had  become  now  the  very  bulwark  of 
their  marriage.  In  abysmal  ignorance  of  the  strain 
of  her  days,  he  was  unconsciously  helping  her  to  bear 
them. 

"  He  asks  so  little,"  she  told  herself  sometimes. 
"  He  asks  so  pitifully  little,  just  a  part  of  me  broken 
off  of  the  surface.  There  are  whole  realms  that  he 
has  never  been  in  at  all.  Why  should  I  begrudge  him 
that  little?" 

He  was  as  completely  dependent  upon  her  as  a  child, 
and  she  had  become  outwardly  content  with  the  al- 
most mechanical  task  of  filling  his  shallow  life.  Her 
anxieties  were  centered  far  more  upon  Freda;  Freda 
who  was  completing  the  seventh  grade  at  the  Rocky 
Cove  schoolhouse  and  was  contriving  to  achieve  an 
education  in  spite  of  her  teachers. 

Margaret  had  long  felt  apprehensive  over  the  policy 
of  the  trustees  of  this  institution  of  learning.  They 


58  FREDERICK 

were  passionate  advocates  of  the  trade-at-home  slogan, 
and  accepted  the  applications  of  the  graduates  of 
Rocky  Cove  without  question  as  soon  as  they  returned 
triumphant  from  the  county  examinations.  Usually 
they  served  only  one  year,  at  the  very  most,  two.  For 
matrimony,  which  was  reckoned  a  by-product  of 
school-teaching,  claimed  them  by  that  time,  and  left 
the  way  open  to  other  educators  similarly  equipped. 

But  in  Freda* s  twelfth  year  Rocky  Cove  demon- 
strated its  unqualified  esteem  for  Margaret  Bayne  by 
electing  her  to  the  school  board,  and  the  following 
September  witnessed  the  community's  first  experiment 
in  imported  pedagogy. 

The  new  teacher  came  through  Four  Corners  on 
the  five-o'clock  stage  one  afternoon  en  route  to  the 
Petersens',  where  established  tradition  decreed  that 
she  was  to  board.  "  What's  she  like,  Avery  ?  "  Freda 
questioned  eagerly  when  she  met  him  that  night  at 
supper.  "  What  is  she  like?  " 

"  She's  a  peach,"  he  answered  conclusively. 
"  Wears  a  face  veil,  so  I  couldn't  see  her  much. 
She'll,  have  to  ditch  that  or  she'll  scare  the  kids.  Hair 
the  color  of — well,  not  red  exactly  and  not  brown 
either,  with  eyes  to  match.  She's  a  little  thing,  and  I 
guess  she'll  find  those  kids  a  fistful.  But  she's  a 
peach." 

From  her  mother,  who  called  upon  the  new  teacher 
immediately,  she  learned  further  particulars. 


FREDERICK  59 

"  Miss  Hartwell  is  a  dear,  Freda,  I  know  you're 
going  to  love  her.  She  lost  her  mother  last  winter, 
but  she's  so  brave.  When  I  found  out  that,  I  just 
took  her  right  to  my  heart.  She's  from  Berkeley  and 
has  never  been  in  a  country  like  this  before.  Ah, 
I  know  how  it  looks  to  her."  Her  voice  lapsed  into 
dreamy  reminiscence.  "  How  wonderful,  and  big,  and 
— terrible.  I'm  going  to  have  her  over  to  dinner  on 
Sunday." 

And  Freda  found  Doris  Hartwell  all  that  her 
mother  had  promised.  She  was  young,  just  out  of  the 
teens,  and  felt  all  the  enthusiasm  of  the  new  recruit 
for  her  first  charge.  "  I  can  hardly  wait,"  she  told 
Margaret  after  dinner.  "  I  can  hardly  wait  to  try 
myself." 

During  the  weeks  that  followed  she  was  a  frequent 
visitor  at  West  Winds,  and  in  the  glow  of  her  fresh 
young  enthusiasm  Margaret  Bayne's  own  gaiety  began 
to  revive.  Doris  Hartwell  brought  back  memories  of 
days  long  past.  She  was  a  recrudescence  of  her  own 
youth.  They  taught  Freda  to  make  "  pully  "  candy, 
and  planned  an  evening  of  charades  over  in  the  school- 
house.  They  read  aloud  in  the  long  winter  evenings 
after  Freda  had  gone  up  to  bed. 

The  friendship  was  given  greater  impetus  by  Freda 
herself,  who  was  struggling  that  year  with  the  com- 
plicated labor  problems  of  those  erratic  and  indefati- 
gable workers,  "  A  "  and  "  B." 


60  FREDERICK 

"  Why  don't  you  have  Miss  Hartwell  give  her  some 
extra  help  in  the  evenin's?"  Avery  suggested  to  his 
sister-in-law  during  the  second  month  of  the  term. 
"  I'll  see  that  she  gets  home  all  right." 

Margaret  accepted  this  suggestion  with  a  prompt- 
ness that  delighted  Freda,  for  she  had,  according  to 
her  mother's  prophecy,  fallen  in  love  with  the  new 
teacher.  In  Doris  Hartwell  she  saw  her  ideal  of  cul- 
ture, beauty,  and  character.  It  was  one  of  those  all- 
absorbing  "  first  loves  "  of  a  girl's  heart,  so  significant 
in  the  life  of  adolescence  and  so  lightly  regarded  by 
most  parents. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  Miss  Hartwell  is  a  '  real 
lady/  Freda  ?  "  her  mother  asked  one  night  when,  after 
the  arithmetic  lesson,  they  were  having  one  of  their 
intimate  bed-time  talks.  "  How  do  you  tell  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  Freda  answered  uncertainly. 
"  But  she  makes  me  feel  like  being  polite  all  the  time." 

When  the  heavy  hair  was  braided  and  she  was 
tucked  under  the  covers,  Margaret  knelt  down  and 
gathered  her  into  her  arms,  with  a  gesture  almost 
fiercely  protecting.  "  Oh,  Freddy !  "  she  breathed. 
"  If  I  could  only  know  that  you  were  going  to  grow 
up  like  that!  "  And  then,  after  a  little  silence.  "  Al- 
ways be  good,  dear.  Always  be  good.  It  pays  to 
be  good — and  nothing  else  does." 

Freda  promised  sleepily,  but  she  thought  of  the 


FREDERICK  61 

words  later  in  the  week  when  it  was  necessary  for  her 
to  make  a  definite  decision.  For  it  was  that  same  week 
that  Evelyn  Peter  sen,  just  a  year  older  than  Freda, 
divulged  to  her  a  plan  that  took  her  riotous  imagina- 
tion by  storm. 

"  A  crowd  of  us  are  goin'  up  to  Four  Corners  in 
Oscar's  new  launch,"  she  announced,  while  they  were 
walking  home  from  school.  "  We'll  leave  just  after 
school  Friday  afternoon  and  take  our  supper,  and  in 
the  evenin'  go  to  the  show.  Then  we'll  come  home 
by  moonlight.  There's  a  place  for  you  if  you  want 
to  come,  and  Oscar  says  he's  willin'." 

Freda  gasped  at  the  daring  of  it.  The  plan  seemed 
so  glittering  that  she  felt  it  would  vanish  before  the 
great  day  came.  "Is  Miss  Hartwell  going?"  she 
asked. 

Evelyn  shook  her  head  in  impatient  negative.  "  No- 
body's goin'  but  just  us;  you  and  me  and  Nina  and 
Oscar  and  the  two  Hansen  boys.  We  don't  want  any 
grown-ups  taggin'  along." 

"  Oh!  I'm  afraid  I  can't  go  then,"  Freda  protested 
almost  in  tears.  "  I'm  afraid  Mother  won't  let  me 
if " 

Evelyn  regarded  her  with  cold  contempt.  "  Well, 
what  do  you  have  to  tell  her  about  it  for?  You're 
just  tied  to  your  mother's  apron-string  all  the  time, 
Freda.  You'll  never  have  any  fun  if  you  don't  cut 


62  FREDERICK 

that  out.  Tell  her  you're  goin'  to  spend  the  night  with 
us.  What  she  don't  know  won't  hurt  her,  I  guess." 

"  But — is  it  all  right  for  us  to  go  that  way — just 
us?" 

"My  mother  knows  about  it  and  she  don't  care. 
Anyway  Nina's  goin'  and  she's  eighteen.  I  guess  she 
ought  to  count  some." 

The  first  part  of  this  argument  seemed  conclusive 
and  although  she  still  had  doubts  about  the  adequacy 
of  Nina's  chaperonage,  she  accepted  the  invitation, 
subject  to  the  condition  of  being  able  to  persuade  her 
mother  to  the  plan  of  a  night  with  the  Petersens.  The 
logic  of  Nina  had  proven  the  convincing  argument  in 
the  proposition.  "  Even  if  she  does  find  out  about 
it  afterwards,  she  can't  take  away  a  good  time  after 
you've  already  had  it,  can  she?  " 

But  as  Freda  walked  along  the  mile  of  wind-swept 
bluff  to  school  on  Friday  morning,  with  her  nightgown 
and  toothbrush  made  into  a  neat  little  parcel,  her  song 
was  not  all  joyous.  For  she  knew  that  Mother's  con- 
sent had  not  been  given,  but  wrung  from  her  under 
pressure  of  Father's  unexpected  championship.  At 
the  table  the  night  before  when  she  had  made  the  pro- 
posal, he  had  said  nothing  in  response  to  Mother's 
gentle  refusal.  But  after  supper,  while  Freda  was 
studying  in  the  dining  room,  she  had  heard  his  voice 
through  the  half-open  door  of  the  kitchen. 


FREDERICK  63 

"  Let  her  go,  Margaret.  I  don't  want  the  Petersens 
to  get  the  idea  that  we're  afraid  to  have  our  children 
mix.  We  can't  raise  her  in  a  sealed  package.  Let 
her  go." 

"They  do  mix,"  Mother  had  protested.  "The 
Petersen  children  are  over  here  half  the  time.  But 
not  at  night,  Fred.  I  can't  let  her  stay  over  there  all 
night." 

But  in  the  end  she  had  yielded,  and  Frederick  Bayne 
had  come  into  the  dining  room  and  told  Freda  that 
she  might  go.  During  the  day  she  managed  to  banish 
Mother's  anxious  face  to  the  background  of  her 
thoughts  and  to  throw  herself  with  the  enthusiasm  of 
all  her  intense  nature  into  plans  for  the  evening. 
Doris  Hartwell  was  to  spend  the  night  with  one  of 
the  other  families  in  the  Swedish  colony,  so  there 
was  no  fear  of  disclosure  from  that  source.  And 
"tied  to  your  mother's  apron-string"  was  a  taunt 
whose  full  insolence  only  dawning  adolescence  can 
know. 

When  school  was  dismissed  at  four  o'clock,  the  chil- 
dren hurried  out  to  the  bluff  where  Oscar  Petersen 
junior  was  trying  out  the  engine  of  his  second-hand 
launch.  For  an  hour  he  and  the  two  Hansen  boys 
worked  over  it,  their  faces  growing  blacker  and  their 
language  less  guarded  with  each  failure  of  the  craft 
to  start.  At  the  end  of  this  time  Oscar  slammed  down 


64  FREDERICK 

the  lid  of  the  gasoline  tank  with  an  oath,  and  faced 

his  anxious  guests.     "  The  d thing  won't  work 

and  that's  all  there  is  to  it!  I'll  have  to  get  one  of 
the  fellers  at  the  Landin'  House  to  look  at  it,  but 
that  won't  help  us  any  for  tonight." 

His  sister  Nina  met  this  situation  with  a  quick  re- 
sourcefulness which  staggered  the  rest  of  the  crest- 
fallen party.  "  Let's  take  the  six-o'clock  stage  to  Four 
Corners.  We  can  come  home  on  the  midnight  one. 
It  won't  be  as  much  fun  as  this  but  it's  better  than 
stay  in'  at  home." 

An  hour  later  the  party  of  six  had  hailed  the  empty 
mail  stage  and  tucked  themselves  inside.  Nina  and 
the  oldest  Hansen  boy  appropriated  the  back  seat,  and 
although  it  was  wide  enough  for  another  couple,  Oscar 
unexpectedly  hoisted  Freda  to  the  middle  of  the  stage. 
"You're  goin'  to  be  my  girl  for  this  trip,"  he  told 
her.  His  ill  humor  over  the  failure  of  the  launch  had 
vanished.  He  was  hilariously  good  tempered.  From 
the  superior  height  of  his  sixteen  years,  he  seemed  to 
Freda  to  be  looking  down  upon  her  from  a  great  al- 
titude. When  his  arm  stole  about  her,  a  little  later, 
she  was  annoyed  but  not  startled. 

"Don't!  "  she  said,  squirming  herself  free. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because.    It  musses  up  my  hair  and — I  don't  like 
it" 


FREDERICK  65 

The  rest  of  the  party  were  absorbed  in  their  own 
affairs  and  paid  no  heed  to  them. 

"I  bet  you  do  like  it  all  right,  Freda.  You're 
only >' 

"  No,  I  don't.    I  think  you're — a  silly  boy." 

He  flushed.  "If  you  think  that,  what'd  you  come 
along  for  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him,  puzzled.  "  Why,  I  came  to  go 
to  the  show." 

"  There  ain't  goin'  to  be  any  show." 

The  voice  of  Nina  came  to  them,  muffled,  from  the 
rear  seat.  "  Oh,  Oscar,  what'd  you  tell  her  for  yet?  " 

Freda  had  pushed  her  hat  far  back  on  her  head  and 
was  gazing  at  him  with  startled  eyes.  "Where  cure 
we  going  then  ?  " 

"  We're  goin'  to  have  our  supper  first  out  in  that 
grove  back  of  Johnson's,"  Nina  soothed.  "  It'll  be 
just  like  a  picnic  and  we'll  sit  around  the  fire  after- 
ward." 

"But  till  midnight?"  Freda  protested.  "It'll  get 
too  cold.  " 

"  Well,  we  don't  have  to  stay  there  till  midnight," 
Oscar  cut  in  impatiently.  "  You  know  that  big  brown 
house  on  the  hill  back  of  the  hotel,  Freda?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  spoke  in  a  strained,  excited  whisper. 
"  You  mean  the— the  Haunted  House?  " 

He  leaned  closer  and  his  voice  was  sepulchral  in 


66  FREDERICK 

the  darkness.    "  We're  goin'  to  find  out  if  it's  really 
haunted!    That's  why  we  came.     We've  dared  each 
other  to  find  out." 
Freda  shivered. 
"  You  ain't  afraid,  are  you?  " 
"  I— I— think  I  am— a  little." 
Evelyn  turned  and  fixed  her  with  a  withering  glance. 
"  'Fraid  cat,"  she  accused.    "  We'll  never  get  a  chance 
to  see  a  haunted  house  again  maybe.    You'll  have  to 
go  anyway,  unless  you  want  to  stay  all  alone." 

"  No,  she  don't,"  Oscar  retorted.    "  She  don't  have 
to  go  up  there  if  she  don't  like.     I'll  stay  with  her." 
Freda  looked  at  him  with  troubled  eyes.     "  Then 
you'd  have  to  miss  seeing  it." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  ha  told  her  in  a  tone  of 
patient  resignation.  "  You  needn't  think  about  that." 
His  renunciation  was  magnificent.  He  grew  larger 
and  larger  before  her  eyes.  "  Don't  decide  about  it 
right  now,"  he  suggested.  "  Let  me  know  when  we 
get  to  Four  Corners.  You  think  it  over." 

This  last  admonition  was  unnecessary.  Freda  could 
think  of  nothing  else.  Her  fear  of  the  expedition,  her 
unaccountable  dread  of  something  unnamable,  her  pas- 
sionate longing  for  Mother  and  the  safe  shelter  of 
home,  made  the  plan  a  nightmare.  But  here  was 
Oscar,  silly  but  kind-hearted  Oscar,  who  had  planned 
this  adventure  to  give  them  all  fun.  How  could  she 


FREDERICK  67 

deprive  him  of  it  at  the  last  minute?  How  could  she 
be  the  one  to  spoil  his  pleasure?  No,  it  was  not  pos- 
sible. She  must  not  only  go,  but  she  must  seem  to 
enjoy  going.  As  he  helped  her  down  from  the  high 
seat,  she  smiled  bravely  into  his  eyes.  "  I  guess  I'll 
go,  Oscar.  I  think — it  will  be  fun." 

"  You're  a  good  sport,"  he  rewarded  her.  "  I  knew 
you  wouldn't  be  a  piker." 

They  stopped  at  the  "  Palace  of  Sweets  "  to  buy 
some  candy,  and  it  was  while  she  waited  for  the  com- 
pletion of  this  purchase  that  Freda  caught  sight  of  a 
familiar  figure.  It  was  Avery,  sitting  very  close  to 
one  of  the  dry  goods  store  girls  in  a  curtained  com- 
partment of  the  ice-cream  parlor.  "Well,  what  do 
you  know?" 

He  straightened  suddenly  and  stared  at  her  in  blank 
amazement,  "What  is — what  are  you  doin'  here, 
kiddo?" 

She  gave  him  a  hurried  account  of  the  picnic  plan. 
The  girl  laughed.  "  You  won't  have  any  kind  of  a 
time  with  that  Petersen  boy !  Oh  no !  "  she  warned. 
But  Avery  was  looking  at  her  gravely. 

"  Your  mother  don't  know  about  it,  does  she  ?  "  he 
asked. 

The  misery  of  the  last  half  hour  made  confession  an 
infinite  relief.  "  Do  you  think — she'd  care — very 
much,  Avery?  "  she  implored. 


68  FREDERICK 

He  laughed  half -pityingly  at  the  agony  in  her  tone. 
"  You  know  she  would,  Freda.  You  know  good  and 
well  she  would."  He  stirred  his  soda  with  the  long- 
handled  spoon.  "  You  can  trust  me,  kiddo,  to  keep 
mum  if  you  want  to  stay.  But — the  buckskin's  hitched 
around  by  the  Palace  Hotel.  I'll  be  goin'  home  in  an 
hour." 

She  caught  at  his  arm.  "  Oh,  Avery,"  she  entreated. 
"  You  tell  Oscar."  Her  courage  quailed  at  the  pros- 
pect of  his  displeasure.  "  You  tell  Oscar — that  I've 
gone." 

That  night  while  she  sobbed  out  the  little  story  be- 
side Mother's  chair  in  the  living  room,  there  was 
shame  and  self-reproach  in  her  voice,  but  there  was  re- 
sentment too,  a  resentment  that  made  Margaret  Bayne 
tighten  her  clasp  upon  the  cold  little  hand.  "  I  never 
have  any  fun,"  Freda  sobbed.  "  All  the  others 
have  good  times,  but  I I  can  never  do  any- 
thing!" 

She  saw  her  mother's  face  grow  rigid  in  the  lamp- 
light. "  Freda  dear,  I  have  been  making  a  plan  for 
you,"  she  said  gently.  "  I  have  a  wonderful  plan, 
but  I  wasn't  ready  to  tell  you  about  it  just  yet.  When 
you  finish  at  Rocky  Cove,  in  just  two  years,  when 
you're  fourteen,  how  would  you  like  to  go  and  stay 
with  Cousin  Edith  in  the  city  and  go  to  high  school 
there?" 


FREDERICK  69 

Freda  was  struck  speechless.  So  all  the  time  that  her 
heart  had  been  hot  with  resentment  against  Mother's 
"  apron-string  "  she  had  been  planning  this  marvel- 
ous thing  for  her.  As  the  months  of  the  term  dragged 
along,  this  prospect  filled  all  her  thoughts.  And  then, 
during  the  last  month  of  the  session,  just  before  she 
was  thirteen,  there  occurred  an  incident  that  marked 
a  milestone  in  her  life. 

Avery  was  showing  Freda  how  to  work  the  new 
cash  register  over  at  the  store  in  Four  Corners  one 
Saturday  afternoon,  when  the  oldest  Hansen  boy,  now 
a  stage  driver  and  just  Avery' s  age,  sauntered  in  for 
some  cigarettes.  He  had  picked  them  out  of  the  case 
and  flung  the  money  to  Freda  when  Avery,  watching 
her  eager  fingers  making  change,  asked  a  casual  ques- 
tion. "  Coin'  to  the  dance  down  at  Hopkins  Pavilion 
tomorrow  night  ?  " 

The  Hansen  boy  had  started  toward  the  door. 
"  Ye — aa,  I'll  be  there,"  he  answered  with  equal  care- 
lessness. 

"Who  you  goin'  with?" 

He  continued  his  slow  passage  toward  the  waiting 
stage.  "  I  ain't  goin'  with  anybody." 

Avery  laughed.  "  Don't  take  it  so  hard,  Bud,"  he 
advised.  "You  ain't  the  first  one  she's  put  in  the 
discard  and " 

"  What  do   you   mean  ? "    the   Hansen   boy   cried 


70  FREDERICK 

fiercely.  "  Do  you  think  I'm  moonin'  around  that 
Berkeley  school  teacher  yet?" 

"  You  was  the  last  time  I  saw  you.  But  Lord,  man, 
I'm  not  blamin'  you.  She's  got  eyes  like " 

"  She's  got  eyes  like  beer  bottles  when  the  light 
strikes  'em,"  the  Hansen  boy  finished.  An  ugly  smile 
curved  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  "  Look  here,  Avery. 
You  know  me.  If  I  can't  kiss  a  girl  the  third  time 
I  take  her  out,  I  quit  her  cold.  But  I'm  not  goin' 
to  quit  this  game  with  any  cards  out  against  me. 
They're  all  goin'  together  from  the  Petersens'  to- 
morrow night.  But  we're  comin'  home  in  bunches  of 
two,  and  by  the  time  Doris  Hartwell  gets  there,  she'll 
wish  to  God " 

Avery's  indolent  interest  underwent  a  change  that 
seemed  suddenly  to  transform  him.  With  one  long 
leap  he  was  over  the  counter  and  had  knocked  his 
customer  down.  In  half  terrified,  half  fascinated 
silence  Freda  watched  them  struggle  together  on  the 
floor.  Ten  minutes  later  when  the  stage  had  rumbled 
on  its  way,  the  disgruntled  driver  swearing  revenge, 
she  turned  shining  eyes  upon  the  victor.  "Why, 
Avery !  "  she  gasped.  "  Why,  Avery — it  was  splendid ! 
But  what  made  you?  " 

"  I  dunno,"  he  answered  huskily.  "  But — well,  I 
guess  I  ain't  a  dead  one  yet,  Freda." 

The  next  night  he  escorted  Doris  Hartwell  to  the 


FREDERICK  71 

"  Bunch  "  dance.  It  was  the  usual  semi-monthly  affair 
given  by  the  young  men  of  the  community  down  at  the 
junction  of  the  two  stage  lines.  Here  the  members 
of  the  "  Bunch,"  and  their  feminine  guests  held  revelry 
every  other  Saturday  night,  adjourning  early  Sunday 
morning  so  as  not  to  conflict  with  the  services  of  the 
Methodist  minister,  who  came  up  from  Cazadero 
whenever  there  was  a  fifth  Sunday  in  the  month. 

Avery  had  escorted  Doris  Hart  well  to  many  of  these 
functions,  and  had  always  been  enthusiastic  in  his  de- 
scription of  them  on  the  following  morning.  But  on 
this  occasion  he  was  moodily  noncommittal  when  his 
brother  questioned  him  concerning  the  details  of  the 
evening's  pleasure. 

For  Avery  and  Doris  Hartwell,  in  making  the  steep 
grade  down  to  the  river  bed,  had  met  with  an  accident. 
And  the  Bayne  buggy,  with  a  broken  axle,  had  been 
left  near  the  river  while  they  rode  the  buckskin  home. 
For  Avery  it  had  been  the  most  exhilarating  expe- 
rience of  his  life.  His  nearness  to  this  girl,  the  feel 
of  her  arm  clasped  about  him,  the  sound  of  her  gay, 
thrilling  voice,  these  had  stirred  him  with  swift,  pas- 
sionate desire,  and  they  made  the  experience  a  thing 
for  dreams,  not  table  conversation.  But  Frederick 
Bayne  was  disposed  to  be  jovial. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  been  surprised  if  you  had  broken 
the  buggy  when  you  was  goin'  with  Nina  Petersen," 


72  FREDERICK 

he  commented,  as  he  served  the  usual  Sunday  morning 
chipped  beef.  "  But  this  little  girl  don't  weigh  more'n 
a  hundred  pounds.  You  must  have  both  been  sittin' 
on  the  same  side,  wasn't  you?" 

Margaret,  busy  with  the  coffee  cups,  rallied,  as 
usual,  to  the  cause  of  the  discomfited.  "  Well,  if 
Avery  tried  it,  I  guess  he  comes  by  it  honestly.  The 
Baynes  have  never  been  what  I  would  call  backward 
men!" 

"  I  guess  Miss  Hartwell  would  be  willin'  to  go  with 
Avery  all  the  time  if  she  knew  how  he'd  stood  up  for 
her  when  Bud  Hansen  said  that  about  her  eyes  bein' 
like  beer  bottles,"  Freda's  serious  little  voice  inter- 
posed. "  But  it  wasn't  Bud  that  started  that,  Avery. 
It  was  Nina.  I  found  out." 

"  It  sounds  like  Nina,"  Mother  commented  dryly. 

"Well,  I  guess  she  didn't  mean  anything  by  it," 
Father  suggested.  "  Over  at  Petersen's,  that  would 
be  considered  a  compliment."  But  Freda's  thoughts 
were  already  upon  something  else.  "  Why,  Mother,  if 
the  buggy's  broken,  we  can't  go  to  church ! " 

"  If  you'll  be  ready  in  half  an  hour  I'll  take  you  over 
on  the  wagon,"  Father  promised. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Freda's  interest  in  the 
services  of  the  Methodist  minister  was  prompted  by 
youthful  piety.  But  the  rare  church  service  at  the 
Pavilion  was  the  one  social  event  of  her  monotonous 


FREDERICK  73 

life.  It  afforded  almost  the  only  excuse  for  dressing 
up,  for  the  community  singing  which  her  soul  loved, 
for  a  dozen  sedate  pleasures  which  a  more  sophisti- 
cated child  would  have  taken  as  matters  of  course. 

"  But  we  can't  get  the  dishes  all  stacked  and  be 
dressed  that  quick,  Father,"  she  protested,  and  then 
caught  her  mother's  eye  and  stopped. 

"  Don't  you  know  better  than  to  cross  your  father 
when  he  offers  to  do  something  for  us,  Freda?  "  she 
said  when  she  was  giving  the  girl's  hair  a  hasty  brush- 
ing upstairs. 

Freda  sighed.  The  motto,  "  Don't  cross  Father," 
might  well  have  been  worked  in  worsted,  she  thought, 
and  hung  over  the  living  room  door  under  the  framed 
inscription,  "  God  Bless  Our  Home."  The  tyranny 
of  tact  was  beginning  to  chafe  her  eager  young  heart. 

As  the  trio  jolted  over  the  uneven  road  a  few  min- 
utes later,  Mother's  voice  rose  above  the  din.  "  I 
wish  you  wouldn't  tease  Avery  about  Doris  Hartwell, 
Fred.  She's  just  the  kind  of  girl  I  want  him  to  cul- 
tivate." 

"  Well,  I  guess  he'll  go  with  a  good  many  different 
kinds  before  he  settles  down,"  her  husband  prophesied. 
"  It's  in  the  blood." 

"  All  the  more  reason  to  guide  him  carefully  then," 
Mother  persisted,  but  her  voice  held  a  note  of  patient 
futility. 


74  FREDERICK 

It  was  the  next  week,  when  she  was  coming  home 
from  school,  that  her  mother's  words  were  brought 
back  to  her  with  unexpected  suddenness.  She  had 
lingered  in  the  schoolyard  for  a  quiet  hour  of  study  in 
the  early  summer  sunshine,  and  had  taken  a  longer 
but  more  interesting  way  home*  through  an  unre- 
claimed timber  grove.  Over  the  springy  pine  needles 
she  walked  as  on  a  pungent  cushion.  All  at  once  there 
came  to  her  the  sound  of  voices  close  at  hand.  She 
halted.  And  then,  through  a  break  in  the  heavy  under- 
brush, she  saw  Avery  and  Doris  Hartwell  sitting  on 
a  fallen  log.  It  was  the  look  in  Avery 's  face  that  held 
her  there  for  an  instant,  fascinated.  She  had  never 
seen  it  wear  that  expression  before.  The  careless,  half- 
tolerant  good  humor  was  gone.  It  was  strained  and 
tense. 

"  I  have  been  in  your  home  a  good  deal,  yes,"  Miss 
Hartwell  was  saying  in  a  kind,  but  defensive  tone. 
"  But  Mrs.  Bayne  was  the  attraction  always.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  I  made  that  perfectly  plain.  I  have 
not  been  out  with  you  more  than  any  one  else,  and  I 
don't  see  why  you  should  think " 

"All  that  doesn't  count  for  anything!"  Avery 
cried  sharply.  "  The  only  thing  that  counts  is  that  I 
love  you  and  that " 

Freda  stole  away,  her  cheeks  burning  with  the  shame 
of  momentary  eavesdropping,  but  her  heart  on  fire 


FREDERICK  75 

with  emotions  that  were  almost  terrifying.  She  had 
been  given  her  first  glimpse  of  the  mysterious  well- 
spring  of  life  and  it  awed  and  thrilled  her.  How  did 
Avery  dare  ?  In  all  her  life  she  had  never  dreamed  of 
such  masterful  intrepidity.  She  dreaded  to  meet  him 
that  night  at  supper  and  was  glad  when  Father  an- 
nounced that  he  had  gone  down  to  the  Landing  House 
and  would  not  be  back  until  late. 

Till  far  into  the  night  she  lay  listening  for  him. 
"He'll  never  be  the  same  again,"  she  told  herself 
solemnly.  "  His  life  is  ruined." 

For  Mother's  regretful  announcement  at  the  table 
that  night,  that  Miss  Hartwell  had  accepted  a  position 
in  Berkeley  for  the  next  term,  had  dashed  all  her 
hopes  of  Avery 's  final  victory.  She  felt  a  vague  pity 
for  him  and  a  bleak  depression  at  the  prospect  of  Miss 
HartwelFs  going,  but  his  role  of  rejected  lover  was 
far  less  appealing  to  her  imagination  than  Doris  Hart- 
well  in  the  character  of  a  breaker  of  hearts.  If  she  had 
been  an  ideal  before,  she  was  a  deity  now.  Only  a 
supernatural  being  could  have  waved  aside  importu- 
nate love  with  such  unruffled  serenity.  At  last  she  had 
found  a  real  life  heroine  equal  to  those  in  her  mother's 
library. 

Avery  was  morose  when  she  met  him  next  morning 
at  table.  His  mood  was  completely  in  keeping  with 
her  passion  for  the  dramatic.  It  was  "  in  character." 


76  FREDERICK 

But  there  was  a  curious  light  in  his  eyes  that  baffled 
her.  During  all  that  week  he  was  at  home  scarcely 
at  all,  and  Margaret,  looking  at  him  with  troubled 
eyes,  made  no  comments. 

The  following  Sunday  while  the  family  were  seated 
at  the  late  supper  which  was  their  one  unhurried  meal 
of  the  week,  Avery  drove  in  at  the  gate  and  hitched 
the  buckskin  to  the  post  just  outside  the  kitchen  door. 
Margaret  heard  him  and  began  pouring  his  cocoa. 
The  next  moment  there  was  a  sound  of  footsteps 
across  the  bare  kitchen  floor.  The  door  was  flung  open 
and  Avery,  in  his  best  serge  suit,  with  Nina,  gowned 
in  white  farmer's  satin  embellished  with  cheap  lace, 
stood  upon  the  threshold. 

In  a  voice  that  was  a  mixture  of  defiance  and  grim 
exultation,  Avery  made  an  announcement.  "We've 
just  come  back  from  Cazadero  and — Nina  and  I  are 
married." 

For  a  moment  the  little  group  about  the  supper 
table  sat  motionless,  like  a  trio  of  movie  actors  when 
the  director  cries,  "  Hold !  "  Then  Mother  rose  auto- 
matically as  though  propelled  by  some  power  outside 
herself.  She  went  quietly  to  where  the  bridal  couple 
stood  in  the  doorway,  and  kissed  them  both.  The 
act  seemed  somehow  to  relieve  the  tension. 

Frederick  Bayne  pushed  back  his  chair.  "  Well,  I'll 
be  damned!"  he  said  weakly. 


FREDERICK  773 


FOR  the  first  few  days  after  Avery's  abrupt  mar- 
riage, Freda  went  about  in  a  sort  of  trance.  The 
rush  of  her  emotions  overwhelmed  her  and  held  her 
dumb.  There  was  stupefaction,  and  resentment  and 
an  infinite  contempt.  But  more  intense  than  any  per- 
sonal condemnation  was  her  disillusionment  concern- 
ing life  itself.  A  few  days  of  golden  rapture  in  the 
glow  of  that  mysterious  thing  called  romance,  and  then 
— this  tawdry  climax,  this  incredible  sequel.  It  was  as 
though  she  herself  had  caught  at  the  radiant  hem  of 
love's  garment,  only  to  have  it  change  to  a  cotton  rag 
in  her  hand. 

The  first  shock  of  the  announcement  over,  Frederick 
Bayne  deeded  to  his  brother  five  acres  at  the  north  end 
of  the  apple  orchard,  and  Oscar  Petersen,  expressing 
stolid  satisfaction  in  the  fact  that  Nina  was  "  married 
and  settled  respectable,"  contributed  to  the  young 
couple's  equipment  a  four-room  house. 

At  the  end  of  three  years,  when  two  little  buds  had 
been  added  to  the  Bayne  family  tree,  Nina  complained 
that  this  residence  was  too  small.  But  its  builder  had 
already  passed  on  to  that  country  whose  territory  is 
described  as  "  many-mansioned,"  and  Frederick  Bayne 
made  it  clear  to  his  brother  that  he  considered  his 
fraternal  obligations  at  an  end. 


78  FREDERICK 

It  was  upon  Mother  that  the  burden  of  the  young 
family  fell  heaviest.  It  was  she  who  made  most  of  the 
children's  first  clothes,  she  who  searched  the  catalogues 
for  labor-saving  devices  and  passed  them  on  to  the 
family  in  the  apple  orchard,  she  who  invited  them  all 
to  dinner  every  Sunday  so  that  Nina  might  have  a 
rest  from  cooking. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  have  them  up  every  Sunday, 
Mother,"  Freda  complained  one  Sunday  morning 
while  she  helped  prepare  the  meal  for  these  extra 
guests,  which  made  this  day  a  nightmare  of  drudgery. 
"  Sometimes  I  want  to  have  one  of  the  girls  from  Four 
Corners  over,  but  Nina  never  talks  about  anything  that 
interests  us,  and  the  babies  make  so  much  noise." 

Mother  laid  down  the  chopping  knife  and  looked 
at  her  with  anxious  apology.  "  The  reason  I  have 
them  up,  dear,  is  to  show  Nina  how  nice  people  set 
their  tables  and  live.  She  hasn't  had  many  advantages 

but "    She  came  over  and  drew  the  girl's  shining 

head  close  to  her.  "  Freda,  dear,  I  know  you're  dis- 
appointed about  not  going  to  Cousin  Edith's  this  year. 
But  be  patient,  sweetheart.  Father  has  had  a  pretty 
hard  time  just  meeting  the  interest  this  fall.  But 
next  term  I  think  we  can  arrange  it." 

Freda  looked  at  her  with  adoring  eyes.  "  Mother, 
I  never  can  hide  the  least  thing  from  you.  It's  no  use 
trying.  But  I  have  tried,  and  I  didn't  know  you 


FREDERICK  79 

knew  I  was  disappointed  about  the  Four  Corners  high 
school.  I  haven't  minded  it  much,  though.  Just  for 
my  first  year,  maybe  it's  better  for  me  to  be  at  home." 

She  tried  to  speak  lightly,  for  of  late  she  had  been 
worried  about  Mother.  It  was  not  only  her  increasing 
deafness,  for  chronic  neuralgia  had  long  ago  begun  to 
affect  her  hearing,  but  the  haggard  lines  of  her  face, 
apparent  even  to  the  eyes  of  sixteen,  filled  the  girl 
with  a  vague  uneasiness.  Now  as  she  mashed  the 
mound  of  potatoes  with  a  rebellious  vehemence,  she 
glanced  furtively  at  Mother's  bent,  tired  figure  clad 
in  a  fresh  lavender  gingham,  with  the  coquettish  little 
bow  of  chiffon  buds  fastened  incongruously  at  the 
throat.  The  latter  had  come  in  one  of  Doris  Hart- 
weirs  frequent  letters,  letters  from  the  outside  world 
to  which  Margaret  had  come  to  look  forward  with  a 
pathetic  eagerness. 

"  I'm  going  to  put  this  little  bow  on  your  new  party 
dress,  Freda,"  Mother  told  her  now.  "  I  wanted  to 
wear  it  just  once  to  tell  Doris  that  I  had.  But  it's  too 
girlish  for  me.  It  will  look  dear  just  where  the  lace 
comes  together  on " 

"You're  not,"  Freda  told  her  hotly.  "You're 
going  to  wear  it  yourself  on  your  gray  dress  that  night. 
I  love  to  see  you  in  dainty  things." 

Her  spirits  revived  under  the  prospective  joys  of  the 
Easter-dance  which  the  teachers  of  the  Four  Corners 


8o  FREDERICK 

high  school  were  giving  to  the  pupils  that  next  week. 
On  this  occasion  Freda  was  to  wear  her  first  party 
dress,  a  simple  little  frock  of  soft,  mercerized  mate- 
rial, which  Mother  had  contrived  to  make  festive  look- 
ing by  the  patient  working  of  French  knots,  by 
shirred  ribbon,  and  a  bit  of  real  lace. 

That  was  a  wonderful  night.  Long  afterward  when 
she  was  a  middle-aged  woman  and  some  one  asked  her 
what  day  of  her  life  she  would  live  over  again  if  she 
could,  Freda  choose  without  hesitation  the  golden 
hours  of  that  first  evening  party. 

Most  of  the  conscientious  little  band  of  teachers  of 
the  Four  Corners  high  school  were  from  the  city,  and 
into  their  annual  entertainment  of  the  student  body 
they  tried  to  bring  an  atmosphere  of  good-breeding  and 
culture.  There  were  hand-painted  dance  programs,  a 
five-piece  orchestra,  a  huge  bowl  of  punch  set  in  a 
beflowered  alcove  of  the  Woman's  Club  hall,  cakes, 
chocolate,  and  ice-cream,  served  by  the  hostesses  and 
Mother,  who  was  always  enthusiastically  welcomed  by 
the  young  people  and  faculty  as  a  chaperon.  That  the 
gathering  was  chaperoned  at  all  was  sufficient  to  place 
it  among  the  unique  and  "  tony  "  parties  of  the  town. 

Freda,  smiling  at  her  mother  that  evening  over  the 
shoulders  of  strapping  youths  who  had  learned  some- 
how and  somewhere  to  dance,  and  did  it  with  a  grace 
and  rhythm  that  she  never  encountered  in  her  after 


FREDERICK  81 

years,  thought  she  had  never  seen  her  look  so  dear. 
The  gray  voile  dress,  turned  once  and  made  over 
twice,  was  brightened  by  the  alluring  little  fancy  apron 
which  she  wore  as  she  helped  pass  the  refreshments. 
It  was  a  love  of  an  apron,  another  gift  from  Doris, 
who  had  written  that  she  had  seen  it  in  the  Woman's 
Exchange  and  couldn't  resist  sending  it  to  Mrs.  Bayne 
because  it  looked  exactly  like  her.  A  dainty,  fine 
little  garment  it  was,  embellished  with  embroidered 
forget-me-nots  and  lace  edging.  "  It's  too  sweet," 
Mother  had  protested.  "  It  must  be  meant  for  you, 
Freda."  Now  as  Freda  whirled  by  in  the  arms  of  her 
stalwart  partner,  Mother  smiled  back  at  her  and  shooed 
them  away  with  this  haughty  bit  of  sheer  linen. 

It  was  a  wonderful  evening,  while  the  music  thrilled 
her  heart,  and  Father,  with  a  group  of  other  fathers, 
who  had  accepted  the  invitations  of  the  teachers, 
stood  about  the  door  talking,  and  gave  gallant  assist- 
ance with  the  ice-cream  freezers. 

"  It  was  a  glorious  party,"  Freda  told  them  that 
night  when  at  last  it  was  over  and  they  drove  home 
through  the  cold  March  night.  "  Everybody  said  it 
was  the  best  party  they  ever  had !  " 

"  And  you  were  the  best  lookin'  girl  there,"  Father 
told  her  with  one  of  his  rare  bursts  of  affection. 

That  night  while  she  talked  it  all  over  with  Mother 
as  she  undressed,  Margaret  watched  her  with  glowing 


82  FREDERICK 

eyes.  "  And  by  next  year,"  she  promised — "  by  next 
term  I  think  surely  we  can  send  you  to  the  city.  Only 
next  August  to  wait  for,  Freda,  and  then  won't  you  be 
happy?  " 

Freda  drew  her  into  a  convulsive  embrace.  "  I  don't 
know,"  she  said,  "  whether  I  can  be  happy  away  from 
you,  Mother." 

It  was  a  week  later  that  Frederick  Bayne  knocked 
at  his  daughter's  door  in  the  early  morning  and  made 
a  brief,  alarming  announcement. 

"  Freda,  you'd  better  come  to  your  mother.  She's 
sick."  When  the  girl  knelt  at  her  mother's  bedside, 
searching  the  white  face  in  an  agony  of  appeal,  Mar- 
garet Bayne  opened  her  eyes  and  forced  a  smile. 
"  I'm  just  tired,  dear,  terribly  tired  with  the  pain  in 
the  back  of  my  neck.  But  it's  nothing  to  be  alarmed 
about." 

Freda  did  what  she  could  to  make  her  comfortable 
and  then  went  down  to  the  kitchen.  There  were  no 
extra  men  to  cook  for  that  month,  but  Father  must 
have  his  breakfast  on  time.  Through  all  her  terrify- 
ing anxiety  persisted  the  realization  that  his  comfort 
must,  at  all  costs,  be  assured. 

To  her  surprise  she  found  him  already  there,  mov- 
ing silently  about  between  pantry  and  stove.  He  had 
set  two  places  at  the  kitchen  table,  and  as  she  entered, 
he  lifted  a  pot  of  steaming  coffee  and  filled  her  cup 


FREDERICK  83 

and  his  own.  The  cereal,  which  had  been  cooked,  as 
usual,  the  night  before,  was  heating  in  the  double 
boiler. 

"  Try  to  eat  a  good  breakfast,  Freda,"  he  urged. 
"  You'll  have  a  hard  day." 

It  was  a  hard  day,  one  of  the  hardest  of  all  her4 
life,  but  as  she  looked  back  upon  it  through  the  vista 
of  after  years,  always  there  came  back  to  her  the 
memory  of  that  heart-warming  sense  of  comradeship 
with  her  father  which  she  had  never  known  before. 
On  that  one  day  at  least,  they  understood  each  other, 
worked  together,  suffered  together,  each  trying  to 
spare  the  other. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  before  Frederick  Bayne  returned 
from  Four  Corners  bringing  the  doctor,  and  an  hour 
later  before  a  verdict  was  pronounced  outside  the  pa- 
tient's door. 

"  Spinal  meningitis.  She  must  have  been  suffering 
for  weeks,  months.  If  I  could  have  seen  her  be- 
fore  " 

He  was  a  tall,  spare  man  with  the  drawn,  haggard 
face  of  the  habitually  overworked — one  of  those 
super-skilful  physicians  often  encountered  in  the 
isolated  districts  of  California. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  you  were  sick,  Mar- 
garet? "  The  note  of  anguished  appeal  in  her  father's 
voice  wrung  Freda's  heart  with  a  compassion  for  him 


84  FREDERICK 

that,  for  a  moment,  deadened  every  other  emotion. 
"  You  know  I've  never  denied  you  anything  you  ought 
to  have.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  to  call  the  doctor  ?  " 

The  woman  on  the  bed  made  no  response,  neither 
was  there  any  recognition  in  her  eyes  as  she  looked 
at  him. 

The  day  passed,  and  then  another,  the  doctor  staying 
all  night  with  his  patient,  with  the  matter-of-course 
devotion  of  country  physicians. 

"  Don't  think  about  me,"  Frederick  Bayne  said 
sharply  to  Freda  when,  on  the  third  day,  he  found  her 
in  the  kitchen  blindly  preparing  his  dinner.  "  I  don't 
want  anything  to  eat.  You  stay  with  your  mother." 

Freda  went  back  to  the  sick  room  and  found  that 
consciousness  had  returned  to  the  patient.  Margaret 
Bayne  stretched  out  a  limp,  tired  hand.  "Freddy." 
The  voice  came  faintly  but  vibrant  with  appeal. 
"  Take  care  of  father.  Don't  let  anything  make  you 
neglect  him.  He  isn't  the  kind  of  man  who  can  live 
alone.  Make  him  happy." 

•  •  '•  •  •  •  • 

Freda's  memories  of  her  mother's  funeral  were  con- 
fused and  vague  save  for  one  glaring  incident.  The 
close,  crowded  rooms  thronged  with  neighbors  to 
whom  funerals  were  a  subdued  form  of  festivity,  the 
defiant  voice  of  the  Methodist  minister  as  he  repeated 
the  world-old  challenge  to  death,  the  voices  of  the 


FREDERICK  85 

volunteer  choir  wailing  their  insistent  appeal  to 
"  Abide  with  Me,"  all  these  formed  a  somber  mist 
through  which  she  saw  a  long,  gray  casket  supported 
by  three  chairs  in  the  dining  room.  The  service  was 
over  and  six  black-garbed  men  were  moving  toward 
it,  when  Avery  touched  her  arm. 

"  I  think  we'll  be  back  from  the  cemetery  in  about 
an  hour,  Freda,"  he  whispered.  "  I'll  get  Nina  to  stay 
and  help  you  with  the  dinner." 

Freda  recoiled  as  from  a  blow.  She  had  attended 
innumerable  funerals  with  her  parents,  for  this  is  an 
obligation  which  country  communities  demand,  and 
now  with  a  shock  of  unspeakable  dismay  she  recalled 
the  relentless  tradition  of  dining  the  pall-bearers.  The 
thought  startled  her  out  of  the  dumb  paralysis  which 
had  benumbed  every  fiber  of  her  being  since  her  moth- 
er's passing.  Through  her  mind  now  floated  grisly 
memories  of  the  comments  of  certain  of  the  neighbor 
men,  regarding  the  funeral  viands  which  had  been 
served  to  them  by  wealthy  and  poor  whom  they  had 
assisted  in  the  dark  hour  of  need. 

She  saw  them  departing  with  the  gray  casket,  her 
father  and  Avery  walking,  bareheaded,  behind.  The 
coffin  seemed  long,  incredibly  long.  With  a  sudden 
overwhelming  sense  of  her  loss,  she  ran  after  it.  The 
procession  halted  and  waited  patiently  while  she  picked 
up  a  bunch  of  lavender  brodisea  which  had  fallen  to  the 


86  FREDERICK 

ground  and  laid  them  tenderly  on  the  lid.  Just  so  had 
they  waited  upstairs  when,  just  before  they  started  to 
the  dining  room,  she  had  begged  them  to  stop  a  minute 
while  she  tucked  a  chiffon  veil  about  her  mother's  head. 
"  She  feels  the  wind  so,"  she  had  whispered.  "  She 
always  felt  it  so." 

Now,  standing  at  the  gate,  she  watched  with  hungry 
eyes  while  the  long  coffin  was  pushed  gently  into  the 
hearse  and  the  procession  started  on  the  five-mile  drive 
to  the  bleak  cemetery  near  Four  Corners.  She  turned 
back  to  the  house  then,  nerving  herself  against  its 
silent  desolation.  On  the  threshold  of  the  dining 
room  she  paused,  transfixed  with  horror.  Over  the 
very  spot  where  five  minutes  ago  the  three  chairs  had 
stood  in  solemn  rank,  the  dining  table  had  been 
stretched  its  full  length  and  covered  with  a  fresh  white 
cloth.  Out  in  the  kitchen  Nina  was  stepping  heavily 
to  and  fro,  and  there  was  a  jarring  sound  of  clatter- 
ing crockery.  With  a  wild  abandonment  to  grief, 
Freda  ran  upstairs  and  threw  herself  upon  her  moth- 
er's bed.  Terrible  sobs  shook  her,  sobs  that  were  muf- 
fled by  the  pillow,  for  the  thought  of  Nina's  comfort- 
ing was  intolerable. 

"I'll  never  be  able  to  stand  life!"  she  cried  pas- 
sionately.    "  I'll  never  be  able  to  do  it." 

But  ten  minutes  later,  supported  by  a  strength  that 
seemed  to  come  wholly  from  outside  her  being1,  she  was 


FREDERICK  87 

down  in  the  kitchen  helping  with  the  dinner.  And 
thus  she  learned,  with  the  poignant  agony  of  youth, 
one  of  life's  grimmest  lessons;  that  the  commonplace 
realities  of  existence  are  the  things  which  rule  it,  that 
they  are  utterly  without  reverence  or  decorum  and 
will  push  their  clamorous  claims  into  the  very  presence 
of  death  itself. 

In  the  days  that  followed,  Freda  was  to  learn  many 
other  lessons.  All  thought  of  further  education  was 
abandoned  now  and  she  took  up  the  burden  of  house- 
keeper, cook,  and  laundress  for  her  father  and  three 
hired  men.  During  the  first  few  months  of  this  new 
life  she  unconsciously  discarded  the  motto,  "  Don't 
Cross  Father/'  for  the  more  positive  standard,  "  Make 
Father  Happy." 

And  this  proved  no  easy  task.  For  in  the  death  of 
Margaret  Bayne,  her  husband  had  lost  more  than  a 
wife.  He  had  lost  the  shock-absorber  who  had  eased 
the  burdens  of  his  life  and  eliminated  its  petty  troubles. 
Like  many  another  man  of  his  type,  he  found  himself 
suddenly  exposed  to  the  jar  and  creaking  of  domestic 
machinery  and  it  bewildered  and  irritated  him.  Only 
on  rare  occasions  did  he  speak  sharply  to  the  girl  who 
was  struggling  with  the  steering  gear,  but  his  air  of 
martyrdom,  his,  silent  resignation  to  the  loss  of  his 
birthright,  were  infinitely  harder  for  her  sensitive  na- 
ture to  bear  than  would  have  been  sharp-voiced  end- 


88  FREDERICK 

cism.  As  the  days  passed,  she  discovered  to  her  dismay 
that  he  expected  her  to  fit,  without  any  period  of  read- 
justment, into  the  place  left  vacant  by  her  experienced 
and  resourceful  mother. 

But  it  was  not  the  work  of  the  rambling  ranch  house 
which  terrified  and  overwhelmed  her.  Gradually  this 
fell  into  a  routine,  and  the  problems  which  it  involved 
could  be  solved,  in  large  measure,  by  longer  hours  of 
work  or  the  elimination  of  other  tasks.  The  duty  of 
making  father  happy  seemed  coincident  with  the  duty 
of  making  him  comfortable.  But  at  the  end  of  each 
day — stretched  an  evening. 

To  the  girl  it  seemed  a  curious  thing  that  these  even- 
ings which  had  been  so  self-absorbed  by  Father,  so 
unshared  by  Mother,  should  be  so  obviously  disturbed 
by  her  empty  chair.  There  was  the  nightly  reading 
of  the  paper,  but  it  was  a  cursory  perusal  now,  and 
after  he  had  thrown  it  aside  there  seemed  no  other  re- 
source for  entertainment.  For  he  did  not  spend  the 
rest  of  his  evenings  down  at  the  Landing  House  now. 
What  Margaret  Bayne  had  been  unable  to  accomplish 
during  her  lifetime,  she  accomplished  in  death.  Freda 
knew  that  he  had  relinquished  these  social  gatherings 
on  her  own  account,  and  this  knowledge  made  the 
problem  of  his  evening  cheer  doubly  imperative  in  her 
conscientious  eyes.  They  had  never  been  chummy. 
Freda  was  appalled  by  the  realization  of  this  now  and 


FREDERICK  89 

at  a  loss  to  explain  it.  She  read  wistfully  the  stories 
in  books  and  magazines  of  girls  who  were  their  father's 
boon  companions.  She  knew  that  she  felt  a  genuine 
affection  for  him,  and  she  knew  too  that  he  was  proud 
of  her,  that  he  had  bragged  to  the  neighbors  about  her 
achievements  at  school.  But  there  was  something — 
What  was  that  something  that  stretched  between  them, 
and  across  which  they  seemed  to  view  each  other  as 
from  a  great  distance? 

In  desperation  she  turned  for  help  to  literature. 
Eagerly  she  read  the  women's  magazines,  hoping  to 
find  in  their  varied  pages  a  suggestion  that  would  en- 
lighten her.  But  the  quest  was  vain.  Although  the 
periodicals  were  full  of  the  "  confessions  "  of  women 
who  were  successful  home-makers,  and  the  fiction  re- 
plete with  the  chronicles  of  those  who  were  lamentable 
failures,  there  was  no  mention  of  her  own  problem. 
There  were  suggestions  for  making  a  circus  in  the 
attic  and  a  gymnasium  in  the  basement,  for  entertain- 
ing the  sick  and  helping  the  ambitious,  but  there  was 
nothing  to  light  the  path  of  a  girl  of  sixteen,  strug- 
gling to  understand  and  meet  the  needs  of  a  bereaved 
and  uncommunicative  father.  Sometimes  while  the 
man  sat  staring  into  the  fire  and  Freda's  needle  wove 
a  slow  passage  back  and  forth  across  a  ragged  sock, 
she  felt  that  the  silence  between  them  was  an  impass- 
able gulf.  Once,  in  the  late  autumn,  six  months  after 


90  FREDERICK 

her  mother's  death,  she  attempted  to  bridge  it  by  a 
tentative  suggestion. 

They  were  sitting  in  the  living  room  and  Frederick 
Bayne,  having  finished  the  checking  over  of  some  ac- 
counts, had  pushed  them  aside  and  was  replenishing 
the  ample  fire.  As  he  sank  back  into  his  chair,  a  long 
sigh  escaped  him.  Freda's  ever-alert  ears  caught  the 
weary  boredom  in  it. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  I— I  don't  want  you  to  feel 
that  you  have  to  stay  at  home  with  me  every  evening. 
I  know  it's  pleasanter  for  you  down  at  the  Landing 
House,  and  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid  to  stay  alone,  really 
I'm  not." 

"What  makes  you  think  I  like  it  so  much  down 
there?"  She  did  not  understand  the  note  of  resent- 
ment in  his  tone,  but  was  quick  to  feel  that  somehow 
she  had  offended  him. 

"  Why — I  know  you  used  to  like  to  go  there.  I — 
I  should  think  you  would  like  it.  Playing  cards — and 
things  like  that,  are  more  interesting  for  you  than  just 
staying  home — with  me." 

He  did  not  deny  this,  but  his  face  softened.  "I 
don't  mind  it,  and  you're  not  of  an  age  to  stay  here 
alone  evenin's,  Freda." 

There  it  was;  his  old  resignation  to  her  unvoiced 
demands.  It  made  her  desperate.  "  Let's  play  cards 
here  then,  Father.  Let's  have  Avery  up  in  the  eve- 


FREDERICK  91 

nings  sometimes  and  play.  You  said  yourself  once 
that  I  had  '  card  sense.'  If  I  could  learn  euchre  and 
cribbage,  I  can  learn  poker,  or  whatever  it  is  they 
play  down  there." 

He  looked  at  her  earnest,  flushed  face  and  a  sud- 
den pain  stabbed  him.  The  girl  had  that  ardent 
quality  in  her  voice,  and  it  seemed  in  that  moment, 
to  drive  home  to  him  his  loss  with  a  cruel  insistency. 
It  was  suffering  that  made  his  tone  harsh  when  he 
spoke,  but  she  was  too  young  to  distinguish  between 
this  and  cold  displeasure. 

"  You  needn't  worry  about  me,  Freda.  I  guess  I'm 
not  a  Landin'  House  bum  yet." 

He  stalked  away  to  bed  a  few  minutes  later,  and 
the  girl  buried  her  face  in  the  pile  of  socks  and  cried 
softly. 

But  the  next  day  she  had  an  inspiration.  A  new 
catalogue  had  come,  and  in  its  pages  she  found  fresh 
hope.  Two  weeks  later  when  her  father  came  into 
the  living  room  with  the  paper  after  supper,  he  found 
her  waiting  for  him  in  eager  excitement.  He  stopped 
short,  staring  at  something  on  the  table  beside  her. 
"Why,  what  the ?" 

"  It's  a  talking  machine,"  she  explained  breath- 
lessly. "  I  got  it  with  my  own  money,  father.  With 
some  of  my  savings  account  money.  Mother  wanted 
me  to  use  it  for  high  school  in  the  city,  you  know. 
But  now  that  I'm  not  going,  I  thought —  There's 


92  FREDERICK 

some  left  anyway,  almost  a  hundred  dollars.  And  in 
the  evenings  this  will  be " 

He  had  come  over  and  was  examining  it  with 
curious  interest.  "  Seems  to  be  in  pretty  good  shape 
after  the  trip,"  he  commented.  "  Let's  hear  it  play." 

"  I  only  got  a  few  records/'  she  explained  as  she 
fitted  one  into  place  with  nervous  fingers.  "  They're 
rather  expensive,  but  we  can  send  for  more  any  time. 
A  whole  bookful  of  names  came  with  it."  She  was 
watching  his  face  eagerly.  "  Don't  you — like  it, 
Father?" 

"  Sure  I  like  it.  But  you  oughtn't  to  have  spent 
all  that  money,  Freda — an  off  year  like  this  has  been." 

Avery  and  Nina  appeared  just  then  to  hear  the 
new  machine,  and  the  evening  passed  off  very  well, 
but  in  spite  of  their  voluble  approval,  the  investment 
was  not  the  brilliant  success  which  Freda  had  pictured, 
and  she  crept  into  bed  with  a  cold  feeling  of  futility 
and  failure  clutching  at  her  heart. 

"You  oughtn't  to  have  spent  all  that  money." 
The  words  pounded  against  her  tired  brain.  And 
Mother  had  told  her  with  her  last  breath  and  in  a 
voice  tense  with  something  more  than  her  own  phys- 
ical suffering,  to  "  make  Father  happy."  How  did 
they  do  it?  she  demanded  of  herself  passionately. 
How  had  Mother,  how  did  other  women  all  around 
her,  keep  men  happy?  Was  the  spending  of  money 
or  the  saving  of  it,  the  all-vital  element  in  a  man's 


FREDERICK  93 

happiness?  Perhaps  other  women  didn't  care  so 
much  whether  their  husbands  were  happy  or  not.  But 
Mother  had  seemed  much  more  concerned  about  it 
than  about  her  desolate  little  daughter. 

She  knew  that  her  father  was  not  a  stingy  man, 
that  Mother  had  been  troubled  sometimes  at  his  reck- 
less liberality.  Never  had  he  refused  to  let  her  get 
what  she  wanted  at  the  store  and  charge  it  to  him. 
But  he  was  different  these  past  months,  different  in 
many  bewildering  ways. 

"  You  look  kind  of  peaked,  Freda,"  he  said  to  her 
one  day,  when  the  dreary  winter  was  over  and  April 
was  rilling  the  air  with  the  hope  and  invigoration  of 
spring.  "  I'm  afraid  you're  moonin'  around  by  your- 
self too  much.  If  you  can  be  ready  by  eight,  I'll  take 
you  over  to  Four  Corners  with  me  tomorrow  mornin'. 
I've  got  to  see  about  gettin'  some  more  men." 

Freda  made  ready  for  the  trip  with  the  first  thrill 
of  happiness  that  she  had  felt  during  all  that  long 
year.  Sitting  beside  her  father  on  the  shabby,  stiff 
seat  of  the  buggy,  she  felt  a  new  vigor  stealing  over 
her.  The  joy  that  possessed  her  seemed  unaccountable 
in  view  of  the  meager  pleasures  which  the  expedition 
promised,  but  love  itself  is  not  more  clamorous  in  its 
demands  than  youth.  For  the  heart  of  seventeen, 
there  is  an  enchantment  that  will  persist,  though  all 
the  wailing  world  conspire  against  it. 

It  was  still  early  when  they  reached  Four  Corners, 


94  FREDERICK 

and  while  her  father  talked  with  the  men  down  at 
the  freight  wharf,  she  paid  visits  to  some  of  her 
former  high  school  friends  and  to  the  new  library 
which  the  coast  town  boasted.  She  had  long  ago  read 
all  the  books  on  her  mother's  shelves,  and  the  library 
here  had  helped  more  than  anything  else  to  make  the 
past  months  endurable.  When  she  met  her  father  at 
noon,  there  was  new  color  in  her  cheeks. 

"Don't  bother  to  put  up  any  lunch,"  he  had  told 
her.  "  At  noon  we'll  go  to  the  Palace." 

If  the  trip  to  Four  Corners  was  a  dissipation,  lunch 
at  the  "  Palace  "  was  almost  a  debauch.  To  take  a 
meal  away  from  home,  a  meal  planned,  cooked,  and 
served  by  somebody  else,  each  one  of  its  courses  a 
surprise,  held  untold  possibilities  of  adventure. 

The  Palace  Hotel  was  a  two-story  green  frame 
structure,  inclosed  on  three  sides  by  narrow  porches 
upstairs  and  down.  A  narrow  hall  running  the  length 
of  the  building  led  straight  to  the  kitchen,  and  the 
doors  on  either  side  of  the  passage  lured  the  guests 
into  the  pleasure  fields  of  the  parlor,  with  its  jangling 
square  piano,  and  shabby  card  tables,  or  to  the  dining 
room,  inhabited  by  three  long  oilcloth  covered  tables 
and  cane-bottom  chairs. 

Freda  and  her  father  joined  a  score  of  other  diners 
in  the  center  group,  and  friendly  hands  passed  plat- 
ters in  their  direction.  For  the  "  Palace  "  did  not 
pamper  the  whims  of  its  patrons  by  providing  "  short 


FREDERICK  95 

orders."  When  the  Chinese  cook  beat  the  triangle 
on  the  front  porch,  it  signified  literally  that  the  meal 
was  served,  for  better  or  for  worse.  Those  who  liked 
their  food  hot  obeyed  its  summons  promptly.  Those 
who  were  not  sensitive  to  degrees  of  temperature 
might  loiter.  The  "  Palace  "  had  never  been  known 
to  run  short  of  provisions,  and  for  this  reason  it  was 
the  Mecca  to  which  traveling  men,  itinerant  dentists, 
and  other  professional  tourists  looked  forward  dur- 
ing the  long  stage  trip  "up-county."  The  place  of 
head  waitress  was  a  merely  honorary  position  and 
was  adequately  filled  by  Mrs.  Aurelia  Hendricks. 

Mrs.  Hendricks  was  a  stately  blonde,  with  a  Venus- 
like  figure  and  a  genius  for  casual  friendships.  She 
was  habitually  clothed  in  clinging  black,  but  this  was 
because  of  certain  spectacular  effects  of  color  scheme 
and  not  in  memory  of  the  late  Mr.  Hendricks.  Four 
Corners  was  not  even  sure  that  Mr.  Hendricks  was 
"late."  Among  the  habitues  of  the  "Palace," 
Aurelia  was  reckoned  an  attractive  woman  and 
"mighty  good  company,"  and  no  questions  were 
asked.  Aurelia  had  announced  her  former  residence 
as  Colorado,  and  her  name  as  Hendricks,  and  Four 
Corners  had  courteously  added  the  prefix,  as  a  mark 
of  friendly  esteem.  Four  Corners  appreciated  the 
honor  of  having  been  chosen  as  a  residence  by  a  lady 
of  such  varied  and  sophisticated  experience.  Gener- 
osity, tolerance  of  the  shortcomings  of  others,  and  a 


96  FREDERICK 

ready  helpfulness  in  time  of  trouble, — these  were  the 
three  cardinal  virtues  in  their  code,  and  Aurelia  Hen- 
dricks  measured  up  to  them  all. 

She  moved  toward  the  center  table  now  with  the 
stately  grace  of  a  cruiser,  and  unloaded  at  the  oil- 
cloth dock  a  cargo  of  generously  proportioned  hot 
biscuit. 

"  Trot  that  dish  of  corned  beef  down  here  to  Mr. 
Bayne,"  she  ordered.  "  You  folks  goin'  to  hog  it  all 
up  at  that  end?" 

She  laid  a  large,  friendly  hand  upon  Freda's  shoul- 
der. "  How  you  gettin'  on  housekeeping  girlie  ?  I 
been  fixin'  to  come  over  and  see  you,  but  I  just  can't 
seem  to  get  started. " 

Her  alert  eyes  traveled  over  the  tables,  and  she  gave 
orders  here  and  there  in  a  bantering  but  authoritative 
voice  which  her  guests  good-naturedly  obeyed.  When 
she  convoyed  to  the  table  dishes  of  cottage  pudding 
submerged  in  a  transparent  sauce,  she  paused  for  a 
moment  at  Frederick  Bayne's  place.  "  I'll  try  to 
hustle  a  piece  of  pie  for  you,"  she  promised.  "  I 
know  you  don't  care  for  this  gooey  stuff." 

Her  friendliness  was  light-hearted,  almost  careless, 
but  it  seemed  to  Freda  another  bright  spot  in  that 
carefree  day.  During  the  following  summer  she  made 
the  trip  to  Four  Corners  with  her  father  once  a  week, 
and  she  came  to  look  forward  to  these  occasions  as 
the  pivotal  events  in  her  monotonous  life.  Its  antici- 


FREDERICK  97 

pation  made  endurable  the  daily  drudgery  of  West 
Winds  and  the  increasing  demands  of  Nina. 

For  Nina  cherished  a  grievance.  She  had  confi- 
dently expected  that  Frederick  Bayne  would  invite 
his  brother's  family  to  move  into  the  commodious 
home  and  make  part  of  it  their  own.  To  her  com- 
placent, self -loving  mind  the  thing  seemed  so  easy, 
so  natural,  a  sequel  so  logical  to  the  passing  of  Mar- 
garet Bayne.  And  when  the  months  passed  and  still 
the  invitation  was  withheld,  she  dropped  an  unmis- 
takable hint  to  Freda. 

The  girl  carried  the  news  to  her  father  in  bewildered 
dismay.  "  Why,  they're  hurt,  Father,"  she  told  him 
one  evening  while  he  pored  over  the  titles  of  records 
in  the  catalogue,  a  diversion  which  gave  him  far  more 
pleasure  than  the  music  itself.  "  Nina  says  they're 
just  sick  because  we  haven't  asked  them  to  come  up 
here  and  live  with  us." 

Her  father's  grunt  of  contempt  needed  no  words 
of  reassurance,  but  he  threw  them  in  for  good  meas- 
ure. "  Well,  you  can  tell  'em  that  if  they're  goin'  to 
be  sick  till  I  do  that,  they'd  better  charter  a  doctor. 
I  guess  you've  got  enough  to  do  lookin'  after 


me." 


Freda  endeavored  to  translate  this  message  into  the 
form  of  polite  regrets,  but  Nina  cut  her  short  with 
the  embittered  assurance  that  she  "  saw  through  it." 
And  although  her  promise  that  she  would  "  get  even  " 


98  FREDERICK 

with  Freda  was  inaudible,  the  time  came  when  she 
was  satisfied  with  the  balance  sheet. 

Summer  faded  into  early  autumn.  Freda's  eigh- 
teenth birthday  came,  and  was  made  happy  by  a 
dainty  little  lingerie  waist  from  Doris  Hartwell  and 
a  package  at  the  breakfast  table  from  her  father. 
When  she  came  in  from  the  kitchen,  flushed,  and  a 
little  nervous  at  having  kept  him  waiting  while  she 
dished  up  for  the  four  hired  men,  the  unexpectedness 
of  this  attention  brought  a  glow  into  her  responsive 
eyes.  "  Why,  Father !  I  didn't  think  you'd  remem- 
ber!" 

He  seemed  pleased  at  her  delight,  but  ill  at  ease. 
"  It's  just — a  little  somethin'.  I  got  it  for  you  last 
time  I  was  in  town." 

It  was  a  silver  chain  and  a  miniature  cross,  studded 
with  sapphires.  "  The  girl  in  the  store  told  me  that 
was  the  stone  for  September.  That  was  the  only 
piece  they  had  with  the  right  gems." 

Her  radiant  face  was  reward  enough,  but  she  came 
around  the  table  shyly  and  kissed  him.  He  submitted 
with  a  shamefaced  stoicism. 

She  did  not  accompany  him  on  the  weekly  trips  to 
Four  Corners  now,  for  the  summer  canning  had  been 
too  absorbing  to  permit  of  such  holidays,  and  in  the 
autumn  months  her  father  told  her  that  it  was  too 
cold  now  "  for  joyridin'." 

The  week  before  Thanksgiving,  while  she  was  mix- 


FREDERICK  99 

ing  a  fruit  cake  as  a  peace  offering  to  Nina,  in  lieu 
of  the  invitation  to  dinner,  which  Frederick  Bayne 
had  distinctly  vetoed,  he  came  into  the  kitchen  and 
stood  drawing  on  his  heavy  gauntlet  gloves.  As  he 
watched  her  absorbed  face,  it  came  to  him,  with  a 
shock  of  surprise,  that  she  had  developed  into  a  beau- 
tiful girl.  The  awkwardness  of  the  early  teens  was 
gone.  The  heavy  brown  hair,  that  was  so  like  her 
mother's,  was  wound  in  two  decorous  braids  about  her 
head,  and  the  lustrous  gray  eyes  that  were  his  own, 
no  longer  seemed  too  large  for  the  delicate  face.  She 
had  never  attained  her  mother's  height,  and  her  very 
littleness  suddenly  struck  him  as  infinitely  ap- 
pealing. 

"  Want  anything  from  town?  "  he  said  abruptly,  to 
hide  the  admiration  of  her  that  possessed  him. 

"  Only  another  book  at  the  library,  please.  I've 
written  the  name  down  on  this  slip." 

He  turned  the  leaves  of  the  return  volume  with  ab- 
stracted eyes.  "  Kenilworth,"  he  murmured.  "  Seems 
to  me  your  mother  read  that  to  me  when  we  were 
first  married.  Isn't  there  a  piece  in  it  about  a  feller 
fallin'  in  love  with  a  queen?  " 

He  closed  it  with  a  sharp  snap  and  started  for  the 
door.  But  when  Freda  thought  he  was  gone,  he  came 
back  and  took  a  long  drink  at  the  pump. 

It  was  quite  dark  when  he  returned.  She  heard 
the  brisk  trot  of  the  horse,  and  a  little  later  the  click 


ioo  FREDERICK 

of  the  corral  latch.  Then  there  was  the  sound  of 
footsteps,  footsteps  that  passed  the  side  of  the  house 
and  went  around  to  the  front  door.  The  next  moment 
her  father  stood  framed  in  the  dining  room  door. 
"  Freda,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  you'd  better  put  another 
place  at  the  table.  We've — got  company." 

She  dropped  the  potato  masher  and  stared  at  him 
intently,  as  he  was  staring  at  her.  Then,  without  a 
word,  she  turned  and  followed  him  into  the  parlor. 
The  lamp  had  not  yet  been  lighted,  and  through  the 
dimness  a  dark  figure  rose  to  greet  her.  It  was 
Aurelia  Hendricks. 

She  was  gowned  in  clinging  black,  and  upon  her 
massive  blonde  head  a  large  transparent  hat  was 
poised  at  a  perilous  angle.  An  icy  hand  seemed  to 
leap  out  of  the  darkness  and  clutch  at  the  girl's  throat. 
Before  the  words  came,  she  divined  them. 

"  Freda,  this  is — your  new  mother." 

She  was  conscious  that  she  stood  unresponsive  as 
a  statue,  while  the  woman's  friendly  arms  sought 
hers  and  Aurelia's  ready  voice  soothed :  "  I've  been 
after  him  and  after  him  to  tell  you.  I  knew  it  would 
strike  you  all  of  a  heap." 

During  her  weeks  of  slow  adjustment  to  this  new 
order  of  life,  Freda  became  more  quiet,  more  re- 
pressed. And  there  was  a  look  of  mute  questioning 
in  her  eyes  that  her  father  often  found  it  difficult  to 
meet.  She  accepted  the  situation  in  a  sort  of  emo- 


FREDFJU'OK,,  'TO!'    !'•<  ;'     IO1 

tional  paralysis.  She  did  not  ask  for  any  details  con- 
cerning the  wedding,  and  none  were  volunteered. 
Gradually  Aurelia  assumed  her  place  as  head  of  the 
household,  and  Freda  was  left  more  to  the  compan- 
ionship of  books  and  the  giant  redwoods,  where  Mar- 
garet Bayne  had  once  loved  to  walk.  There  were  no 
congenial  friends  nearer  than  Four  Corners,  and  she 
shrank  now  from  seeking  them. 

The  head  waitress  from  the  "Palace  Hotel" 
brought  a  new  atmosphere  into  the  old  ranch  house, 
an  atmosphere  that  smacked  of  public  dining  halls  and 
second-class  lodging  houses.  Almost  unconscious  that 
she  was  doing  so,  Freda  began  to  put  away,  one  by 
one,  the  personal  belongings  that  had  been  her 
mother's.  She  couldn't  bear  to  see  them  in  their  new 
surroundings.  When  Aurelia  started  one  of  her 
stories  of  personal  reminiscence  at  table,  she  grew 
nervous,  fearing  a  climax  that  would  make  her  feel 
uncomfortable.  And  yet  she  felt  somehow  that 
Aurelia  was  trying  to  consider  her,  was  under  orders 
to  consider  her  feelings. 

On  one  occasion  only  did  her  father  show  any 
knowledge  of  the  strain  of  the  situation.  That  was 
one  night,  a  few  weeks  after  Aurelia's  installation, 
when  he  came  to  Freda's  room  as  she  was  preparing 
for  bed.  He  carried  the  little  cedar  chest  with  pine 
cone  initials,  which  Margaret  had  always  kept  upon 
her  bureau. 


102  FREDERICK 

"  This  is  yours  now,  Freda/'  he  said.  "  Keep  it  in 
here — out  of  your  mother's  room." 

She  took  it  from  him  silently,  puzzled  by  the  curi- 
ous expression  in  his  eyes. 

And  yet  it  was  not  possible  to  wholly  dislike 
Aurelia.  It  was  she  who  suggested  that  Freda  ought 
to  "have  some  young  folks  around,"  who  helped 
her  fix  over  her  clothes,  and  encouraged  young  Terry 
Barker  to  stay  to  supper  when  he  stopped  by  with 
supplies  from  the  store.  It  was  she  also  who  encour- 
aged the  buggy  rides  with  Freda,  which  he  suggested. 

"  Aurelia  has  waked  up  Freda,"  Avery  commented 
to  his  wife  one  night  as  they  drove  home  from  one  of 
the  "  Bunch  "  dances  with  the  two  babies. 

"  It's  about  time,"  she  remarked  contemptuously. 
"Freda's  as  old  as  I  was  when  I  was  married.  It's 
about  time  she  woke  up." 

"  You  haven't  told  her — anything,  have  you, 
Nina?  "  he  asked,  startled. 

"  No,"  she  answered  sulkily. 

"  You'd  better  not,"  he  warned.  "  Margaret  was 
the  best  friend  I  ever  had ;  yours,  too.  I  guess  I'm  not 
goin'  to  forget  her  this  quick." 

"  It  didn't  take  your  brother  so  long." 

He  flicked  at  the  mud  on  the  buggy  wheels  with  the 
whip.  "  Fred's  been  a  good  brother  to  me,  all  right, 
but — he  never  was  the  kind  of  man  for  Margaret. 
This  arrangement  suits  him  better." 


FREDERICK  103 

And  Freda  herself  was  beginning  dimly  to  sense 
this,  although  she  never  put  it  into  words.  After  the 
first  few  months,  Frederick  Bayne  had  settled  into 
the  unresponsive  contentment  of  a  man  whose  creature 
comforts  are  assured.  And  Aurelia  was  almost  pa- 
thetically eager  to  please.  Freda  had  never  seen  any 
man  waited  upon  as  she  waited  upon  her  father.  With 
eyes  prematurely  old,  she  watched  the  gradual  welding 
of  these  two  lives,  and  was  conscious  at  last  that  in 
this  union  her  father  had  found  his  true  level.  There 
was  no  sense  of  strain  here,  no  pull  between  two  na- 
tures trying  to  adjust  themselves  to  unnatural  planes. 

It  was  the  following  March  that  Evelyn  Petersen 
added  a  dash  of  spice  to  the  gossip  of  the  Landing 
House  by  contracting  a  hasty  marriage  with  the  oldest 
Hansen  boy,  a  month  before  their  child  was  born. 
When  Nina  mentioned  casually  one  day  that  she  was 
about  to  become  an  auntie,  Freda  turned  upon  her 
in  hot  resentment. 

"  I  think  Evelyn  and  Aleck  are  horrid !  "  she  cried. 
"I  think  they're— just  horrid!"  She  repeated  the 
word  with  the  vehemence  of  one  who  realizes  its  in- 
adequacy. 

They  were  standing  in  Nina's  untidy  kitchen,  where 
Freda  had  gone  to  bring  some  doughnuts  from 
Aurelia.  They  faced  each  other  across  the  table  and 
Nina's  blue  china  eyes  flamed  with  sudden  passion. 
"I  know  you  don't  like  any  of  our  family!"  she 


104  FREDERICK 

shrilled.  "  You  never  have  been  really  friendly.  You 
only  went  with  Evelyn  at  school  because  there  was 
nobody  else.  But  you  never  liked  me.  You  wanted 
Avery  to  marry  that  stuck-up  Hartwell  girl.  I  know 
you." 

If  the  accusation  had  been  false,  Freda  would  prob- 
ably have  held  her  peace,  as  she  had  always  done  under 
fire  of  Nina's  outbursts.  Because  it  was  true,  she  made 
a  half-hearted  effort  to  clear  herself.  "  I  wasn't  talk- 
ing about  you,  Nina.  And  I  know  that  what  Evelyn 
did  is  nothing  new  around  here.  But  when  things 
like  that  come  right  into  your  own  family,  you  can't 
blame  me  for  being  mad  clear  through." 

Nina's  gaze  was  resting  upon  the  pile  of  fragrant 
doughnuts.  Suddenly  she  pushed  them  contemptu- 
ously aside  and  lifted  her  eyes.  There  was  an  evil 
smile  upon  her  face  as  she  fitted  her  arrow  to  her  bow. 

"  You've  got  a  right  to  be  '  mad  clear  through/ 
Freda  Bayne.  You  don't  know  why  Aurelia  tries 
to  be  nice  to  you  and  make  you  like  her,  do  you? 
Your  mother  was  decent  to  me  and  so  I've  tried  to 
be  decent  to  you.  But — "  An  ugly  laugh  escaped  her. 
She  leaned  across  the  table  and  spoke  in  a  voice  that 
was  almost  a  hiss.  "  It's  time  you  knew  a  few  things, 
Freda.  Go  home  to  your  stuck-up  family  that  can't 
stand  a  red-blooded  story.  Go  home  and  ask  your 
own  father  if  that  woman  he's  livin'  with  now  has  ever 
been  his  wife!" 


PART   THREE:    CINDERELLA 
AND  CERES 


VI 

FREDA  stumbled  blindly  through  the  redwood  grove 
toward  West  Winds.  Nina's  words  seemed  to  be 
hounding  her  over  the  familiar  trail.  "  Ask  your  own 
father  if  that  woman  he's  livin'  with  now  has  ever 
been  his  wife !  " 

In  that  first  moment  of  their  utterance  her  instinct 
had  prompted  her  to  violent  denial  of  the  accusation. 
That  pathetic  logic  of  youth,  which  insists  that  calam- 
ity is  not  true  simply  because  it  is  too  intolerable  to 
be  borne,  had  hurried  headlong  to  her  rescue.  But 
its  ministry  was  brief.  Every  step  of  that  unreal  walk 
brought  to  light  fresh  evidence  in  defense  of  Nina's 
hideous  insinuations. 

Her  father  had  not  favored  her  attendance  at 
"  Bunch  "  dances,  neither  had  he  shown  a  hospitable 
spirit  to  the  calls  of  Terry  Barker  nor  to  any  one  else 
who  might  enlighten  his  daughter  concerning  the  al- 
tered status  of  her  home.  It  was  Avery  who  made  the 
weekly  visits  to  Four  Corners  for  supplies  now,  and 
although  the  society-loving  Aurelia  sometimes  accom- 
panied him,  these  trips  were  sullenly  discouraged  by 
Frederick  Bayne. 

And  the  silver  cross — she  saw  it  as  a  loathsome 

107 


io8  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

thing  now,  a  sop  thrown  to  her  by  her  father  on  the 
eve  of  his  moral  collapse.  There  were  other  things, 
too,  myriads  of  apparently  unimportant  things  which 
now,  roused  from  their  triviality,  swarmed  about  and 
settled  upon  her  brain  like  a  nest  of  angry  insects, 
each  with  its  poisonous  sting. 

As  she  neared  the  house,  she  heard  Aurelia's  robust 
voice  singing  a  passe  ragtime  air  while  she  turned  the 
leaves  of  a  late  catalogue  on  the  front  porch.  Freda 
veered  off  in  the  direction  of  the  tool  shop.  It  was  im- 
possible to  encounter  Aurelia  just  now.  She  found 
the  shop  deserted  save  for  Terry,  mending  a  bit  of 
harness.  At  the  sound  of  her  footsteps,  he  raised  his 
head,  and  Freda  turned  and  ran  as  though  pursued  by 
an  assassin.  There  were  no  eyes  that  she  might  meet 
now  without  shame.  "Does  he  know?"  she  asked 
herself  wildly  as  she  hurried  out  to  the  rickety  old 
landing  place.  She  had  almost  reached  it,  when  sud- 
denly she  encountered  the  man  for  whom  she  searched. 
He  was  sitting  behind  a  pile  of  broken  barrels  un- 
tangling a  mass  of  rope.  Freda  stopped  short  at  sight 
of  him.  The  abruptness  of  the  encounter  held  her 
dumb.  She  stood  there  staring  at  him  in  frozen  hor- 
ror, as  though  she  had  come  upon  a  new  kind  of  beast 
of  prey.  His  eyes  met  hers  abstractedly.  Then  they 
changed,  and  he  dropped  the  tangle  of  rope  and 
got  to  his  feet.  Father  and  daughter  held  each 
other  in  a  long,  terrible  gaze.  Then  the  man's  eyes 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  109 

fell.  As  though  released  from  an  evil  enchantment, 
Freda  drew  a  long  sigh.  It  was  the  sigh  of  a  prisoner 
on  trial  to  whom  conviction  is  less  a  torture  than  sus- 
pense. 

Frederick  Bayne  kicked  the  mass  of  rope  to  the  edge 
of  the  railing.  "  Well?  "  he  said  harshly. 

An  agony  of  embarrassment  surged  over  the  girl. 
Who  was  this  man  with  whom  she  had  lived  all  her 
life,  but  whom  she  felt  now  that  she  had  never  known? 
Why  was  it  that  they  had  never  been  intimate,  chummy 
like  some  of  the  fathers  and  daughters  of  whom  she 
had  read  ?  "  I  came — "  she  began  vaguely,  "  I  came — 
to  ask  you  about — it." 

"  Of  course  you  had  to  find  it  out  sometime,"  he 
said  moodily.  "  I  kep'  it  from  you  as  long  as  I  could." 
She  waited,  her  eyes  fixed  on  him  appealingly.  "  It's 
just  a  temporary  arrangement,"  he  explained.  "  I 
thought  we'd  get  it  all  fixed  up  proper  before  I  told 
you  anything  about  it.  As  soon  as  she  gets  her  divorce 
we'll  get  it — we'll — have  it  done."  He  picked  up  the 
rope  with  an  air  of  finality.  The  affected  lightness 
of  his  tone,  and  his  easy  dismissal  of  the  subject,  stung 
the  girl  with  a  poignant  sense  of  insult,  and  gave  her 
an  amazing  courage.  She  came  a  step  closer,  grasping 
at  one  of  the  broken  barrels  as  if  for  support.  "Why," 
she  breathed,  "  why  couldn't  you  have  waited  ? " 
Somehow  the  word  "  father  "  wouldn't  come. 

For  a  brief  moment  he  raised  his  eyes  again  to  hers. 


i  io  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

Then  he  shifted  them  to  the  distant  horizon.  The  man 
in  him  was  struggling  with  the  father,  and  when  he 
spoke  again  his  tone  was  gentle.  "  Freda,  your  mother 
left  you  just  at  the  wrong  time.  If  she'd  lived  she 
would  have  told  you  some  things — about  men  and 
women — that  you  ought  to  know." 

Nina's  ugly  taunt,  "  It's  time  that  you  knew  a  few 
things/'  sounded  again  in  her  ears.  What  were  these 
sinister  "  things  "  that  every  one  else  seemed  to  know, 
and  without  the  knowledge  of  which  the  world  was 
a  place  of  ambushed  evil?  She  felt  a  sudden  terror 
of  life,  a  wild  shrinking  from  the  future,  which  seemed 
to  hold  for  her  immeasurable  disaster.  Her  father 
was  speaking  again.  "  As  long  as  you're  happy  here, 
this  is  your  home,  Freda.  When  you're  unhappy,  it 

no  longer  is.  You've  got  money  in  the  bank " 

He  seemed  to  forget  that  a  large  portion  of  this  hoard 
had  been  spent  upon  something  for  him.  "And  it's 
all  yours,  Freda,"  he  finished. 

His  words,  spoken  with  low  distinctness,  were  the 
answer  to  the  charge  which  she  had  made  against  him. 
In  them  was  no  contrition  for  the  past  nor  promise 
for  the  future.  And  they  closed  forever  one  chapter 
of  her  life  and  opened  another. 

Two  days  later  she  took  the  stage  for  the  first  lap 
of  the  long  journey  to  San  Francisco.  Only  Avery 
saw  her  off,  boarding  the  automobile  as  it  passed  the 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  in 

store.  His  interest  was  more  curious  than  regretful. 
"What  kind  of  work  you  goin'  to  try  for,  Freda?'* 

"  I  don't  know  exactly.  When  I  get  to  Cousin 
Edith's,  I'll  talk  over — everything  with  her." 

"  She  know  you're  comin'  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  wrote  to  her  yesterday." 

But  Avery  did  not  seem  to  be  listening.  He  leaned 
toward  her  from  the  running  board  where  he  was 
standing,  and  spoke  in  a  hurried,  embarrassed  tone. 
"I  think  you're  takin'  this  kind  of  hard,  Freda. 
Aurelia  ain't — she  ain't  really  a  bad  woman,  and  she's 
tried  to  be  nice  to  us  all.  Up  here  things  is  different 
from  the  way  it  is  in  the  city.  Why,  I  know  any  num- 
ber of  people  around  here,  and  you  do  too  that " 

"  I'm  not  blaming  Aurelia,"  Freda  told  him.  In  all 
her  hours  of  bitter  resentment,  Aurelia  had  been  only  a 
lay  figure  in  the  ugly  drama,  merely  the  instrument 
used  to  reveal  the  true  levels  of  her  father's  character. 

"  I'm  sorry  Nina  told  you,"  Avery  went  on  with  a 
clumsy  effort  at  apology.  "  She  promised  me  she 
wouldn't,  but  when  she  gits  mad  she  loses  her  head." 

"  It  might  as  well  have  been  Nina  as  anybody," 
Freda  responded  stonily.  "  I  had  to  know  it  some- 
time," 

His  mission  accomplished,  Avery  swung  to  the 
ground.  "  Well,  so  long !  "  he  cried.  "  Good  luck !  " 
They  were  the  casual  words  that  he  might  have  used 
to  any  tourist,  but  they  were  all  she  had,  and  she 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

hugged  them  to  her  heart  as  she  turned  and  watched 
Avery's  vanishing  figure  until  a  turn  in  the  road  hid 
him  from  view. 

When  the  Sausalito  ferry  slid  into  the  dock  at  San 
Francisco,  Freda  lagged  at  the  end  of  the  procession 
of  speed-mad  passengers.  The  big  rattan  suitcase, 
which  had  been  her  mother's,  dragged  like  a  ton  and 
she  stopped  every  few  yards  to  shift  the  burden  to  the 
other  hand.  In  the  long  outside  corridor  of  the  ferry 
building,  where  she  stopped  for  a  moment  to  rest,  an 
elderly  woman  in  dark  blue  tailor  suit  approached  and 
spoke  to  her  with  friendly  informality.  "  Can  I  be  of 
any  help  to  you?" 

Freda  looked  at  her,  startled.  From  the  woman's 
lapel  fluttered  a  bit  of  ribbon  bearing  the  words, 
"  Travelers'  Aid."  She  was  apparently  en  official  of 
some  sort,  and  would  doubtless  expect  to  be  paid. 
"  No,  thank  you,"  the  girl  replied.  "  I'm  expecting  to 
meet  a  friend."  She  lifted  the  leaden  suitcase  and  stag- 
gered on.  Suddenly  a  colored  boy  in  livery  swooped 
down  upon  her  and  lifted  it  out  of  her  hand.  "  Wha' 
Totel?"  he  demanded. 

Freda  hurried  along  breathlessly  beside  him.  "  I'm 
not  going  to  any  hotel,"  she  gasped. 

"What  earthen?" 

"  The  one  that  goes  out  to  Octavia  street."  She  had 
expected  Cousin  Edith  to  meet  her,  but  had  no  uneasi- 
ness concerning  her  ability  to  find  the  address.  The 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  113 

boy  broke  into  a  run  and  slammed  the  suitcase  to  the 
rear  platform  of  a  car  that  had  just  swung  round 
the  loop  in  front  of  the  ferry  building.  "  This'll  take 
you  to  Octavia,"  he  said.  Freda  stumbled  up  the  steps, 
so  intent  upon  dragging  her  baggage  out  of  the  way 
of  the  other  passengers  that  she  failed  to  see  the 
boy's  outstretched  hand.  With  a  cynical  grunt  of 
resignation,  he  disappeared  into  the  crowd  and  the  car 
started  on  its  way  up  Market  street. 

It  seemed  a  longer  ride  than  when  she  had  taken  it 
with  Mother  years  ago.  And  then  she  remembered, 
with  a  start,  that  it  was  farther.  Cousin  Edith  had 
moved  shortly  after  their  visit,  to  a  handsome  new 
apartment  farther  out.  She  had  been  on  Van  Ness 
avenue  before. 

"  Octavia !  "  The  conductor  called  the  name  at 
last,  and  Freda  found  herself  on  the  street  again,  a 
slave  to  the  bulky  suitcase.  The  colored  porter  had 
made  a  happy  guess  in  his  choice  of  uptown  cars,  for 
she  found  herself  within  three  doors  of  the  number 
which  headed  Cousin  Edith's  letters.  But  panic  seized 
her  now. 

Would  Cousin  Edith  be  willing  to  take  her  in  after 
all,  when  she  heard  the  ugly  story  that  had  driven  her 
to  her  door?  During  all  the  hours  of  her  trip  Freda 
had  rehearsed  this  scene,  adapting  her  part  of  the 
dialogue  to  the  shifting  roles  of  Cousin  Edith.  Recol- 
lections of  this  prosperous,  kindly  cousin,  whose 


ii4  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

letters,  though  infrequent,  had  never  failed  of  hospi- 
table suggestion  to  "  come  down  and  treat  me  to  a  long 
visit  some  time/'  had  made  a  cordial  welcome  seem 
certain.  Now  standing  here,  actually  at  Cousin  Edith's 
front  door,  doubts  of  her  reception  assailed  her  on 
every  side. 

In  response  to  her  desperate  ring,  the  latch  clicked 
and  the  door  opened  the  merest  crack.  She  waited, 
her  heart  pounding  tumultuously.  An  impatient  voice 
came  to  her.  "  The  door  is  open.  Come  in." 

She  pushed  it  farther  open  and  found  herself  at  the 
foot  of  a  heavily  padded  flight  of  stairs.  On  the  land- 
ing above,  a  woman  in  a  silk  negligee  and  beribboned 
boudoir  cap  looked  down  at  her.  "  What  is  it, 
please?"  she  demanded  crisply. 

Freda's  eyes  sought  hers  appealingly.  It  was  so 
hard  to  explain  with  that  relentless  flight  of  stairs 
between  them.  "  Perhaps  I  have  made  a  mistake  in  the 
number,"  she  faltered.  "I  am  looking  for  Mrs. 
Dale— Mrs.  Clinton  Dale." 

"  Why,  she  hasn't  lived  here  for  a  month."  Im- 
patience was  still  predominant  in  the  woman's  voice. 
"  She's  moved  out  of  the  city." 

"  Out  of  the  city!  "  Freda  gasped.  "  Why,  where 
did  they — where  did  she  go?" 

"  I  think  to  San  Jose." 

Freda  stared  up  at  her  with  blank  dismay.  "  Then 
she  didn't  even  get  my  letter !  " 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  115 

The  woman  came  halfway  down  the  flight  of  steps. 
"  Are  you  from  out  of  town  ?  "  she  queried.  And  then 
in  response  to  the  girl's  hurried  explanation,  "  Well, 
I  would  go  to  the  Y.  W.  C.  A.  if  I  were  you.  It's  a 
nice  safe  place  for  a  young  girl  traveling  alone.  I'll 
look  up  the  address  in  the  'phone  book." 

A  few  minutes  later  Freda  was  waiting  on  the  cor- 
ner for  a  downtown  car.  San  Jose !  It  might  as  well 
have  been  Buffalo  or  Milwaukee. 

The  girl  behind  the  desk  at  the  Y.  W.  C.  A.  looked 
her  over  with  swiftly  appraising  glance.  "  You  want 
a  single  room  ?  "  she  inquired.  Freda  flushed.  "  I 
don't  know  exactly.  How — how  much  are  they?" 

The  girl  named  the  price,  her  voice  business-like  and 
crisp.  Then  she  waited  for  Freda's  decision,  tapping 
the  desk  with  her  fountain  pen.  "That's  for  the 
room,"  she  explained.  "We  serve  cafeteria  meals. 
Of  course  you  can  do  as  you  like  about  boarding  here." 

"  Very  well,"  Freda  answered.  "  Could  I  go  to  my 
room  now  ?  "  Another  girl  came  in  response  to  the 
bell  summons,  showed  Freda  into  the  plain,  cheerful 
little  room  that  was  to  be  hers,  and  switched  on  the 
light.  "  Going  to  take  your  dinners  with  us  ?  "  she 
asked.  There  was  something  in  her  plain,  freckled 
face  and  wide  humorous  mouth  that  stirred  Freda  to 
sudden  confidence.  The  girl  downstairs  had  been 
frigidly  business-like;  the  epitome  of  twentieth  cen- 
tury feminine  efficiency.  But  the  wide-mouthed  girl 


ii6  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

was  evidently  not  burdened  with  clerical  responsibili- 
ties. She  leaned  on  the  back  of  the  one  rocking  chair 
and  surveyed  her  guest  with  unhurried  friendliness. 

Freda  peeled  off  her  chamois  skin  gloves  and 
turned  the  ringers  right  side  out  with  nervous  care. 
Then  she  faced  her  hostess.  "  I  guess  you  can  tell 
that  I've — I've  just  come  in — from  the  country,"  she 
said.  "  My  mother  used  to  live  here,  but  I  don't  know 
much  about  the  city.  I  hope  you'll  tell  me  a  little — 
about  things." 

The  freckle-faced  girl  sat  down  in  the  chair  over 
which  she  had  been  leaning.  "  I've  always  lived  around 
the  bay,"  she  said.  "  If  I  should  visit  up  your  way 
you'd  have  to  show  me  which  cow  gives  the  buttermilk 
and  which  end  of  a  horse  you  begin  to  harness  first. 
So  I  guess  we're  even.  Is  there  anything  in  particu- 
lar that  I  can  tell  you  just  now?  " 

Freda  came  a  step  nearer,  plunging  the  pins  into 
her  hat.  "  Just  this,"  she  said  eagerly.  "  Tell  me, 
what  is  a  cafeteria?  " 

Her  hostess  met  the  question  gravely.  "  A  cafe- 
teria," she  explained,  "  is  a  cross  between  a  restaurant 
dinner  and  a  picnic  lunch.  You  get  your  food  hot 
and  pay  the  cashier.  That's  the  restaurant  part.  You 
serve  yourself  and  forget  to  take  any  butter.  That's 
the  picnic  part.  But  I'll  meet  you  at  the  registrar's 
desk  at  six  o'clock  and  show  you  how  it  works." 

The  next  morning  after  Freda  had  made  her  second 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  117 

journey  down  the  long  runway  of  the  cafeteria,  she 
settled  herself  in  the  living  room  of  the  Y.  W.  C.  A. 
with  one  of  the  San  Francisco  papers.  The  sight  of 
it,  lying  on  the  magazine-littered  table,  had  been  like 
the  greeting  of  an  old  friend.  She  turned  to  the 
"  Help  Wanted  "  columns  and  searched  them  eagerly. 
Not  for  worlds  would  she  have  confessed  to  any  of 
the  Y.  W.  workers  that  no  definite  position  awaited 
her  in  the  city.  To  her  carefully  ordered  mind,  there 
was  something  almost  unforgivably  improvident  in 
her  present  predicament.  A  wakeful,  feverish  night 
had  brought  to  her  the  conviction  that  she  must  solve 
her  problems  alone.  And  desolate  as  the  prospect  ap- 
peared, this  decision  brought  a  certain  sense  of  relief. 
Try  as  she  might  to  be  comprehending  and  helpful, 
she  knew  that  Cousin  Edith  would  recoil  from  the 
story  that  she  would  have  had  to  tell  her,  and  would 
not  be  able  to  conceal  entirely  her  repulsion.  And 
Freda  knew  also  that,  although  hot  resentment  against 
her  father  burned  in  her  own  heart,  condemnation  of 
him  by  another  would  drive  her  to  violent  defense.  It 
would  be  a  crucial  situation;  she  saw  that  now.  It 
was  better  to  work  it  all  out  alone ;  to  try,  by  her  own 
unaided  efforts,  to  establish  for  herself  a  place  in  the 
society  of  respectable  people. 

But  the  "  Help  Wanted  "  pages,  whose  lengthy  col- 
umns promised  such  varied  forms  of  assistance, 
proved  disappointing.  Those  which  were  not  strictly 


ii8  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

domestic  demanded  "  experience  "  and  "  recommenda- 
tions." At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  she  had  noted  down 
three  addresses  which  featured  "  willingness "  and 
"  reliability."  Then  she  cast  the  paper  aside  and  walked 
slowly  over  to  the  long  mirror  at  the  end  of  the  room, 
where  she  looked  at  her  reflection  with  critical  disap- 
proval. The  tan  tailor  suit  which  she  had  bought  at 
Four  Corners  a  year  ago  had  led  a  sheltered  life  in 
her  bedroom  closet  and  was  as  fresh  as  new.  Her 
one  crepe  de  chine  waist,  which  had  begun  life  pure 
white,  had  passed  valiantly  through  the  stages  of 
cream  and  ecru  and  had  emerged  from  the  last  dyeing 
process  a  golden  brown.  Brown,  of  a  slightly  darker 
shade,  was  the  round  felt  hat ;  a  severe,  uncompromis- 
ing little  hat  which  somehow  contrived  in  spite  of  its 
austerity  to  blend  with  the  glowing  hair  wound  decor- 
ously about  her  head  in  two  heavy  braids  and  escaping 
into  irregular  curves  above  her  ears. 

"  I  don't  look  like  anything,"  Freda  told  the  reflec- 
tion passionately.  "  I  don't  look  like  school  or  busi- 
ness or — even  pleasure.  What  I  look  like — is  Four 
Corners." 

She  was  morbidly  conscious  of  her  lack  of  an  all- 
engulfing  talent,  of  a  glittering  ambition,  which  would 
shed  a  radiance  across  "the  thorny  path  which  stretched 
before  her.  The  girls  in  the  books  and  magazine 
stories  who  left  their  rural  homes  for  the  city,  were 
in  quest  of  a  golden  fleece  of  which  they  held  in  their 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  119 

hands  a  sample.  They  were  possessed  of  a  genius 
for  whose  sake  they  scribbled  happily  in  cheerless  gar- 
rets or  sought  questionable  means  of  acquiring  stage 
costumes.  Her  own  position  was  unromantic  and 
glamourless.  She  had  come  to  the  city  like  a  fugitive 
from  justice,  asking  only  that  it  obliterate  her  past. 
She  had  brought  no  gift  to  enrich  its  motley  treasure 
box.  What  might  she  expect  of  its  bounty? 

She  found  her  way  about  with  surprising  ease  and 
there  was  exhilaration  in  the  traffic-crowded  streets 
and  the  fresh  salt  breeze  that  swept  in  from  the  bay. 
But  her  search  for  work  proved  profitless.  At  the 
first  place,  a  dentist's  office,  the  position  had  already 
been  filled.  The  second  demanded  a  thorough  knowl- 
edge of  the  city.  At  the  third  office,  where  she 
was  kept  waiting  almost  an  hour  for  the  manager,  the 
"position"  turned  out  to  be  a  book  agent  scheme 
which  offered  "  liberal  commissions/'  but  no  salary. 
"I'm  sure  you  could  do  it,"  the  belated  manager  as- 
sured her  with  flattering  enthusiasm.  "  You  never 
can  tell  what  you  can  do  till  you  try.  One  of  our 
agents  in  Montana,  a  young  girl  like  you,  is  making 
thirty-five  dollars  a  week  in  her  territory." 

Freda  turned  the  leaves  of  the  profusely  illustrated 
volume  of  "  Bible  Stories  for  Young  Folks,"  each 
chapter  of  which  ended  with  a  rebus  for  the  attention 
of  smaller  children  of  the  family.  "  I  couldn't  do  it," 
she  said,  and  laid  the  book  upon  his  desk. 


120  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

He  laughed  at  her  lack  of  confidence  and  entered 
into  voluble  protest.  But  Freda  interrupted  him  with 
quiet  self-possession.  "  It  isn't  that,"  she  told  him. 
"Of  course  I'd  be  nervous  about  asking  people.  It 
would  be  hard,  terribly  hard,  but  I  could  conquer  that, 
and  I'm  not  looking  for  something  easy.  But  I 
couldn't  sell  that  book  because  I  don't  approve 
of  it." 

He  stared  at  her  in  mute  astonishment.  But  Freda, 
who  had  been  abashed  in  the  presence  of  the  dentist's 
patronizing  office  nurse,  and  had  quailed  beneath  the 
supercilious  gaze  of  the  insurance  agent,  was  on  firm 
ground  with  this  vendor  of  books. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  you  don't  approve  of  it?  You 
can't  get  any  better  reading  for  young  people  than 
Bible  stories.  Every  child  ought  to  be  familiar  with 
literature  that " 

"  With  the  real  stories,"  Freda  interrupted  with  a 
sort  of  tense  eagerness.  "  Don't  you  see,"  she  hurried 
on,  "  it  isn't  just  the  stories  themselves  that  they  ought 
to  know.  It's — it's  the  way  they're  told,  too."  She 
pushed  the  volume  farther  away  from  her.  "It's 
cheating  a  child  to  give  him  a  thing  like  this." 

"  But  he  can  read  the  real  stories  in  the  Bible  later," 
the  manager  explained.  "  It's  time  enough  to " 

Freda  shook  her  head.  "  He  won't  though,"  she 
Declared.  "  That  is,  most  children  won't.  They  think 
that  they  know  those  stories  already  and  they  want 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  121 

something  new.  No,  I  couldn't  do  it — I  really 
couldn't;  it  wouldn't  be — honest." 

When  she  returned  to  the  street,  the  clocks  were 
pointing  the  noon  hour  and  she  decided  to  go  into  one 
of  the  dressing  rooms  of  a  large  department  store  and 
freshen  up  a  bit  before  having  her  lunch.  The  room 
was  stuffy  and  crowded  with  tired  women  and  quer- 
ulous children.  She  stood  aside  to  await  her  turn  at 
the  lavatory,  and  the  hurrying  crowd,  more  aggressive 
in  its  demands,  jostled  her  this  side  and  that.  It  was 
impossible  for  her  to  elbow  any  one  out  of  her  way, 
and  with  a  little  sigh  of  weariness  she  removed  her 
hat  and  sank  into  one  of  the  chairs  in  the  waiting 
room.  A  portly,  perfectly  corseted  woman  in  hand- 
some, fur-trimmed  coat,  was  sitting  on  the  divan  near 
her.  She  had  evidently  been  watching  Freda's  efforts 
at  the  glass,  for  her  smile  was  whimsically  amused. 
The  girl  felt  the  steady  gaze  fixed  upon  her  and 
blushed.  Several  minutes  passed  and  then  the  woman 
in  the  shimmering  coat  rose  to  go.  But  she  stopped 
at  Freda's  chair  on  her  way  out  and  asked 
an  abrupt  question:  "Do  you  want  to  sell  your 
hair?" 

Freda  clutched  at  the  shining  braids  as  though  she 
feared  the  woman  had  a  pair  of  shears  concealed  under 
her  wrap.  "  Sell  it  ?  "  she  gasped.  She  wouldn't  have 
been  more  startled  if  the  woman  had  suggested  ex- 
tracting her  teeth. 


122  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

"  Well,  of  course,  you  don't  have  to  do  it,"  her 
questioner  assured  her,  still  amused.  "  But  it's  an  un- 
usual shade  of  chestnut.  And  people  are  getting  tired 
of  golden  blondes;  they're  not  fashionable  this  year. 
I'll  give  you  seventy-five  dollars  for  yours.  Think  it 
over  and  if  you  care  to  sell,  call  at  this  address 
tomorrow  morning." 

She  dropped  a  card  into  Freda's  lap  and  swept 
away.  Throughout  the  whole  afternoon,  this  encoun- 
ter and  its  amazing  possibilities  haunted  the  girl. 
What  could  the  woman  want  with  her  hair  ?  She  cer- 
tainly seemed  to  have  plenty  of  her  own,  and  anyway 
hers  was  dark,  almost  black.  Seventy-five  dollars! 
Did  people  really  do  such  things?  Her  little  store  of 
money  would  certainly  melt  away  very  rapidly  if 
tomorrow's  quest  proved  no  more  fruitful  than  today's 
had  been.  She  resolved  to  gratify  her  curiosity  and 
find  the  address  in  the  morning. 

When  she  came  upon  it  quite  suddenly  on  one  of 
the  busy  downtown  streets,  she  found  herself  before 
a  window  filled  with  waxen  heads  marvelously 
coiffured.  There  were  brunettes  and  blondes  in  all 
the  shades,  and  here  and  there  even  gray-haired  wigs. 
Sparkling  combs  and  coquettish  barettes  disported 
themselves  among  the  artificial  poppies  scattered  casu- 
ally on  the  floor  of  the  display  window.  And  propped 
against  the  glass  door  at  the  rear  was  a  card,  bearing 
the  laconic  announcement,  "  Girl  Wanted."  With 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  123 

desperate  boldness  Freda  opened  the  door  and  went  in. 

The  room  was  furnished  with  cretonne-covered 
chairs  and  several  long  showcases,  whose  displays 
were  an  elaboration  of  what  the  window  suggested. 
Behind  one  of  these  a  girl  in  a  long  white  apron,  with 
a  single  curl  over  her  shoulder,  was  making  entries  in 
a  notebook.  She  glanced  languidly  at  Freda.  "  Did 
you  have  an  appointment  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  was  told  to  come  sometime  this  morning 
to  see  about " 

The  girl  turned  and  spoke  through  a  sheet  partition 
directly  behind  her.  "  Applicant  for  apprentice, 
Madame." 

"  Send  her  in,"  a  voice  replied.  Freda  drew  aside 
the  ghostly  curtains  of  the  first  of  a  long  row  of 
sheeted  compartments  and  confronted  the  portly 
woman,  shorn  of  her  luxurious  cloak  and  tracing  the 
line  of  her  eyebrows  with  a  long  dark  pencil.  She 
spoke  to  Freda's  reflection,  without  turning :  "  Oh,  you 
decided  to  let  me  have  your  hair?  " 

"  No,"  the  girl  answered  quietly.  "  But  I  want  to 
apply  for  the — position." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  She  watched  with 
fascinated  eyes  the  progress  of  the  thick  pencil.  The 
eyebrow  that  had  not  been  retouched  looked  sketchy. 
She  was  astonished  at  the  transformation  which  it 
effected.  Under  the  heavy  fringe  of  the  woman's  long 
lashes,  the  blue  eyes  shone  with  a  strange  brilliance; 


i24  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

a  brilliance  which  seemed  to  be  borrowed  in  some  un- 
accountable way  from  without,  for  there  was  no  light 
back  of  them.  Their  beauty  was  that  of  carefully 
poHshed  jewels. 

"  Hairculture  is  a  comparatively  new  and  very  rap- 
idly growing  profession,"  she  said  at  last.  "  It  fills  a 
large  place  in  the  lives  of  women  who  are  leaders  in 
a  community.  While  learning  it,  a  girl  comes  in  con- 
tact with  the  swellest  people.  That's  an  education  in 
itself.  But  I  am  very  particular  about  the  class  of 
girls  I  take  on/*  She  laid  down  the  pencil  and  pushed 
the  enamel  tray  of  toilet  articles  aside.  Then  she 
turned  toward  Freda  for  the  first  time.  She  had  not 
invited  her  to  sit  down,  and  now  the  polished  eyes 
traveled  slowly  from  head  to  feet.  "Take  off  your 
hat,  please/'  she  commanded,  as  though  she  expected 
to  see  the  applicant's  social  status  written  on  her  hair. 
Freda  stood  holding  the  stiff  little  hat  in  her  hands. 
"  How  old  are  you  ?  Any  family  in  the  city  ?  Where 
are  you  living?  Ever  worked  before?  " 

These,  and  an  army  of  other  questions,  Freda 
answered  with  a  breathless  eagerness  to  please. 

"  I  think,"  said  the  inquisitor  at  length,  "  that  I'll 
give  you  a  trial.  I  like  to  help  the  country  girls; 
they're  usually  more  teachable.  You'll  get  your  pro- 
fessional training  absolutely  free  and  have  wonderful 
social  opportunities  beside."  She  named  the  sum  of 
the  apprentice's  wages,  watching  the  girl's  face  closely. 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  125 

"  Come  tomorrow  at  eight,"  she  finished,  and  waved 
her  aside. 

In  her  little  room  at  the  Y.  W.  C.  A.  Freda  offered 
up  a  tremulous  prayer  of  thanksgiving  that  night. 
Never,  never  would  she  doubt  the  protecting  hand  of 
Providence,  she  promised.  Then,  as  she  unwound  the 
wealth  of  hair,  which  had  so  unexpectedly  provided  her 
with  the  key  to  a  profession  that  afforded  such  remark- 
able social  opportunities,  she  told  herself  that  perhaps 
it  was  only  the  talented  girls  who  had  such  heart- 
breaking times  finding  a  place  in  the  city.  "They 
won't  take  anything  that  isn't  in  their  own  line,"  she 
explained  to  the  girl  in  the  mirror.  "  Perhaps  you're 
better  off  after  all  if  you  don't  have  any  '  line.' ' 

And  so  she  became  one  of  Madame  Peltier's  white- 
aproned  girls,  flitting  noiselessly  down  the  green-car- 
peted aisles  between  the  ghostly  white  rooms.  She 
had  been  there  two  weeks  before  she  was  admitted 
into  the  rooms  themselves  where  the  "  social  leaders  " 
were  shampooed,  hot-oiled,  blue-rayed,  marcelled,  and 
bleached.  Her  tasks  were  confined  to  the  sterilizing 
of  supplies,  the  sorting  out  of  towels  and  the  putting 
up  of  fresh  sheet  partitions.  And  she  performed  these 
with  the  reverend  devotion  of  a  priestess  making  ready 
the  sacred  altar;  an  attitude  that  would  have  flattered 
her  employer  had  she  noted  it.  To  the  new  appren- 
tice, the  washing  of  sanitary  brushes  was  glorified  by 
the  professional  atmosphere  which  enveloped  the  task. 


126  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

The  black-bristled  toilet  article  was  not  merely  a  sani- 
tary brush  with  perforated  back,  but  the  implement 
with  which  she  was  eventually  to  pick  the  lock  of  suc- 
cess and  become  "  a  woman  with  a  profession."  The 
stark  cleanliness  of  the  place  was  a  delight.  The 
dainty  dressing  tables  with  their  mysterious  aids  to 
beauty,  the  odor  of  perfumed  powders,  the  vari-col- 
ored  toilet  waters,  her  own  immaculate  uniform,  all 
these  were  the  accessories  to  that  culture  which  her 
hungry  soul  craved. 

She  rarely  saw  the  proprietor  herself.  Her  tasks 
were  assigned  her  by  a  dumpy  little  Irish  girl,  whose 
mouth  drooped  with  a  suggestion  of  tragedy,  but 
whose  eyes  defied  you  to  notice  it.  Mellow-voiced, 
generous  of  her  time  and  her  sympathies,  she  won 
Freda's  shy  heart  at  once.  It  was  impossible  to  be 
reticent  with  Eileen.  She  radiated  good  humor.  She 
had  always  an  apt  story  to  season  argument,  and  a 
ready  diplomacy  in  forestalling  quarrels  among  the 
workers.  It  was  doubtless  this  talent  which  had 
caused  the  manager  to  hasten  her  primary  instruction 
and  to  give  her  a  remunerative  position  in  her  estab- 
lishment as  "  head  girl." 

And  to  Eileen's  other  talents  must  be  added  a  genius 
for  the  adroit  extraction  of  personal  information.  By 
a  process  of  painless  surgery  she  inserted  the  sharp 
edge  of  a  carefully  chosen  interrogation  point,  turned 
it  gently,  hooked  the  particular  bit  of  fact  for  which 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  127 

she  groped,  and  drew  it  to  light.  She  was  the  least 
beautiful  and  the  most  popular  among  all  the  white 
buds  in  Madame  Peltier's  bouquet. 

At  the  end  of  two  weeks,  Freda  had  accepted  her 
unreservedly  as  her  best  friend.  They  lunched  to- 
gether at  the  Blue  Heron  cafeteria,  exchanged  cro- 
cheted yoke  designs,  and  treated  each  other  at  soda 
fountains.  It  was  at  the  beginning  of  the  third  week, 
while  they  were  lunching  together,  that  Eileen,  pour- 
ing clam  chowder  from  the  heavy  white  bowl  into  her 
soup  dish,  asked  casually : 

"You  still  livin'  at  the  'Y'?" 

Freda  nodded. 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  how  you  do  it.  Having  to  get 
your  uniforms  and  that  new  black  skirt  and  hat  makes 
it  expensive,  and  with  the  amount  of  money  you  told 
me  you  had — well,  you're  a  wonderful  manager." 

!<  That's  just  what  I'm  not,"  Freda  hastily  inter- 
posed. And  then  she  gave  her  a  scenario  account  of 
her  finances. 

"  You've  told  me  just  what  I  want  to  know,  dearie," 
Eileen  announced.  "  Now  I've  got  a  plan  that  will" 
save  you  money  and  be  more  homelike  for  you,  too. 
Chip  in  with  Glenn  Markley  and  me.  We've  got  a 
dandy  little  flat  out  on  Fillmore  street.  There's  an 
extra  cot  in  the  livin'  room  and  we  could  put  a  rod 
and  a  curtain  across  one  corner  for  your  clothes.  We 
take  our  lunches  out  and  get  our  other  meals  at  home 


128  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

•—when  we're  not  invited  out  by  friends.    Glenn  told 
me  to  sound  you.    We'd  love  to  have  you  come." 

The  warm  friendliness  of  it  filled  Freda's  eyes  with 
quick  tears.  "Eileen—"  she  faltered,  "Eileen—- 
you're just  a  dear! " 

VII 

THE  flat  on  Fillmore  street  proved  to  be  in  reality 
a  double  house  one  story  high  and  built  above  a  half- 
story  basement.  It  had  been  newly  painted  a  green- 
ish brown  and  its  straight  square  front  gave  it  some- 
what the  appearance  of  a  store.  The  parlor  windows 
of  both  houses  were  lace-curtained  and  caught  back 
from  the  center  with  heavy  white  cotton  cord. 

Freda  set  down  her  baggage  in  a  tiny  square  front 
hall  bounded  on  two  sides  by  the  entrance  and  living 
room  doors  and  on  the  others  with  rows  of  hooks. 
Eileen  made  a  place  for  the  tan  coat  on  one  of  these 
already  crowded  pegs  and  set  her  umbrella  in  a  dim 
corner  on  a  patch  of  oilcloth.  Then  she  ushered  her 
into  the  front  room.  It  was  unlighted,  save  for  the 
two  narrow  windows.  Over  in  a  far  corner  was  a 
couch  almost  hidden  from  view  by  a  tumultuous  array 
of  sofa  cushions.  There  were  cushions  embroidered 
in  orange-colored  poppies  with  the  word  "  California  " 
spelled  in  floss  on  a  diagonal  line.  There  were  woven 
ribbon  covers,  the  head  of  a  college  girl  in  cap  and 
gown  painted  against  a  rose  background,  two  Chinese 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  129 

handkerchiefs  with  ornate  corners  inclosing  the  ro- 
tund form  of  small  feathery  substance,  and  a  pro- 
fusion of  vari-colored  cretonnes.  At  the  foot  of  the 
couch  was  a  round  table  with  a  crocheted  scarf  falling 
over  its  edges  and  supporting  a  tall  vase  with  carved 
roses  and  several  framed  photographs.  "  There's  a 
drawer  underneath,"  Eileen  explained.  "We  cleared 
it  out  so  that  you  could  use  it  for  your  toilet  things. 
We  can  keep  the  card  decks  and  things  like  that  under- 
neath on  this  little  shelf  just  as  well."  Several  shabby 
rocking  chairs  and  an  air-tight  stove  completed  the 
furnishings  of  the  room.  The  walls  were  ornamented 
with  two  landscape  paintings,  heavily  framed,  and  a 
last  year's  calendar.  When  Freda  had  cornpleted  her 
survey  of  this  apartment  Eileen  led  her  into  the 
adjoining  bedroom  furnished  in  imitation  oak  and 
cheerful  green  carpet;  thence  into  a  miniature  bath 
room  lighted  only  by  a  gas  jet.  The  kitchen  was  the 
sunniest  and  most  commodious  room  in  the  house. 
Its  floor  was  covered  with  a  new  blue-and-white 
linoleum  and  its  pine  table  and  sink  were  spotless. 
Here  they  came  upon  Glenn  Markley,  standing  before 
an  improvised  music  rack  tuning  a  violin.  "  Welcome 
home,"  she  greeted  Freda  over  her  shoulder.  "  Leave 
me  alone  for  half  an  hour  longer  and  I'll  come  out 
of  this  real  friendly." 

When  they  acted  upon  this  hint  and  wandered  back 
to  the  parlor,  Eileen  sat  down  on  the  end  of  the  couch 


i3o  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

while  Freda  unpacked,  and  hung  her  scant  wardrobe 
behind  the  denim  curtain  in  the  corner.  "  Glenn's 
cracked  on  the  subject  of  music,'*  Eileen  confided  in 
the  voice  of  one  revealing  for  an  instant  a  family 
skeleton.  "  She  practises  every  evening  for  an  hour 
and  takes  two  lessons  a  week.  She's  got  talent  all 
right,  too,  because  one  of  the  best  violinists  in  the  city 
is  givin'  her  lessons  at  half  price  just  to  help  her 
along.  She  ain't  goin'  to  be  a  Marcel  Wave  all  her 
life.  Nervy  little  tyke  Glenn  is,  too;  no  family  to 
help  her  along;  she's  got  to  dig  up  all  the  prizes  that 
are  comin'  to  her." 

When  the  sounds  of  the  violin  ceased,  and  Eileen 
had  gone  out  to  the  kitchen  to  help  with  dinner,  Freda 
stood  at  the  lace-curtained  window  looking  out  at  the 
darkening  street.  An  unaccountable  depression  pos- 
sessed her,  a  depression  of  which  she  felt  half  ashamed 
in  this  atmosphere  of  frank  friendliness.  It  may  have 
been  the  strangeness  of  her  new  surroundings,  it  may 
have  been  the  long  sobbing  notes  of  the  violin  that 
brought  to  her  a  sudden  aching  loneliness,  a  wild 
longing  for  the  wind-swept  bluffs  and  odorous  forests 
of  Mendocino  county.  The  house  seemed  to  be  cramp- 
ing her  on  every  side.  There  was  no  room  to  breathe. 
She  yearned  for  the  sight  of  long  grass  cowering 
under  the  coast  gales,  for  the  sound  of  horses  whin- 
nying in  the  corral.  She  pressed  her  face  against  the 
cool  window  pane.  "  I  mustn't  cry,"  she  commanded 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  131 

herself  sternly.     "  I  mustn't  cry.     I  always  show  it 
when  I  do,  and — it  would  be  so  ungrateful." 

It  was  the  week  following  her  change  of  residence 
that  her  employer  sent  for  her  just  before  closing 
time  and  informed  her  that  she  was  to  have  charge  of 
the  appointments.  "  The  desk  girl  is  leaving  tomor- 
row," she  explained,  "  and  I  want  you  to  take  that 
work  for  a  while.  As  soon  as  you  come  tomorrow, 
have  Eileen  Morton  dress  your  hair,  and  then  report 
at  the  desk." 

When  Freda  reported  this  promotion  to  the  girls 
at  home,  they  were  not  as  congratulatory  as  she  had 
expected.  "  I  thought  she'd  be  starting  something 
pretty  soon,"  Glenn  commented.  "  I  think  your  hair 
would  look  good  in  puffs,  Freda." 

When  Eileen  had  finished  her  work  upon  it  the  next 
morning,  Freda  was  startled  by  the  reflection  which 
the  mirror  showed.  The  coiffure  seemed  to  have 
transformed  her  into  an  entirely  different  being.  She 
found  herself  wondering,  as  she  walked  down  the 
curtain-lined  aisle  to  the  reception  room,  whether  she 
would  be  able  to  live  up  to  the  part  of  ultra- 
sophistication  which  her  hair  dress  unmistakably 
demanded. 

That  first  day  at  the  desk  was  full  of  surprising 
revelations.  She  was  amazed  at  the  number  of  young 
men  who  came  into  the  hair  shop.  And  they  came 
not  to  make  appointments  for  their  mothers  and  sis- 


132  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

ters,  but  for  themselves.  It  was  usually  a  manicurist 
whose  services  they  demanded,  and  most  of  them 
knew  all  of  the  girls  of  the  establishment  by  their 
first  names.  Among  them  Freda  recognized  one.  It 
was  the  young  man  who  had  called  at  the  flat  on  the 
first  Sunday  of  her  residence  there,  to  see  Eileen.  A 
serious-looking  blond  man  of  about  twenty-eight, 
with  slightly  discolored  hands  and  firm  mouth.  He 
had  talked  gravely  to  her  while  waiting  for  Eileen 
and  although  his  conversation  had  been  of  the  almost 
painfully  conventional  type,  she  had  liked  him  and 
had  watched  with  silent  approval  when  he  and  Eileen 
went  away  together. 

He  came  into  Madame  Peltier's  now  only  to  leave 
a  brief  message  for  her.  "  Tell  Eileen,  please,  that  if 
she  has  to  go  away  next  Sunday,  just  to  'phone  me  in 
the  morning." 

That  was  all.  In  his  ready-made  suit  and  dull  gray 
shirt  he  had  formed  a  striking  contrast  to  the  fur- 
collared,  gauntleted  men  who  leaned  across  her  desk 
and  made  unhurried  appointments  with  the  manicure 
girls.  Freda  breathed  easier  when  he  had  gone.  He 
seemed  so  palpably  out  of  place  in  the  beauty  parlor, 
like  something  almost  crudely  real  in  a  not  quite  sin- 
cere world. 

When  she  delivered  his  message  at  noon,  Eileen 
received  it  abstractedly.  "  I  will  be  away  over  Sun- 
day. I  suppose  I've  got  to." 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  133 

"You  mean  you're  going  out  of  town?"  Freda 
asked. 

Eileen  nodded,  for  once  noncommittal,  so  Freda 
did  not  press  the  subject.  And  Eileen  did  leave  the 
flat  the  following  Sunday  morning,  in  company  with 
a  man  who  drew  up  to  the  curb  in  a  high-powered 
roadster.  No  allusion  was  made  by  any  of  the  girls 
to  this  incident,  but  when  Eileen  came  in,  late  that 
night,  stepping  quietly  through  the  parlor  so  as  not  to 
waken  her,  Freda  was  awake  though  she  gave  no  sign. 
Eileen  was  out  several  evenings  of  every  week,  but 
Glenn  denied  herself  sternly  to  most  callers  and  shut 
herself  into  the  kitchen  with  her  violin,  while  Freda 
read  undisturbed  on  the  couch  in  the  living  room; 
undisturbed  save  for  the  thrilling  notes  which  floated 
in  to  her  through  closed  doors  and  sometimes  made 
attention  to  her  book  impossible. 

"  It's  wonderful,  Glenn ! "  she  cried  one  evening 
when,  drawn  by  the  lilting  music  of  Mendelssohn's 
Spring  Song,  she  crept  up  to  the  kitchen  door.  Glenn 
was  tightening  a  string,  and  she  did  not  look  up  but 
smiled  at  the  intruder.  She  was  a  tall,  dark  girl  with 
wide-open  eyes  that  seemed  to  be  asking  of  life  a  never 
answered  question. 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "  she  said.  "  Well,  I'm  glad  if 
it  sounds  that  way,  but  it's  not  really  wonderful.  I 
never  will  get  those  runs."  She  straightened  from  her 
task  and  rubbed  her  bow  with  an  amber  disk  of  rosin. 


134  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

"  My  music  is  all  I've  got,  Freda,"  she  said  grimly, 
"  and  I'm  going  to  make  it  get  me  somewhere  no  mat- 
ter what  I  have  to  pay  for  it." 

It  was  only  when  she  was  playing  that  Freda  ever 
saw  her  strongly  moved.  She  was  an  undemon- 
strative girl,  almost  cold  at  times,  but  like  many  per- 
sons of  her  type,  she  possessed  a  subtle  power  of  word- 
less, gestureless  affection.  Perhaps  it  was  her  vibrant 
voice  that  betrayed  the  carefully  restrained  emotions. 
With  most  undemonstrative  people,  it  is  the  voice 
which  they  trust  with  their  caresses.  Freda  knew 
that  Glenn  liked  her  and  was  flattered  by  the  friend- 
ship. She  watched  her  now  as  she  wrapped  her  instru- 
ment in  a  large  faded  silk  handkerchief  and  laid  it  back 
in  its  box  with  the  tenderness  of  a  mother  putting  her 
child  to  bed.  Then  she  perched  herself  upon  the 
kitchen  table  and  regarded  Freda  with  her  chin  in  her 
hands. 

"You've  made  a  hit  with  some  of  our  customers 
already,"  she  told  Freda.  "  One  of  the  men  I  mani- 
cured yesterday  asked  me  who  you  were,  and  if  you 
were  always  at  the  desk.  You  can  have  all  kinds  of 
a  time  with  some  of  those  fellers  if  you  want  to  go  in 
for  it.  Eileen  thinks  I'm  nuts  for  not  takin'  more 
interest  in  some  of  'em  that's  got  perfectly  good  cars, 
but  I'm  not  makin'  any  friends  just  now  that  I  can't 
use  in  my  business.  I'm  speakin'  to  you  as  a  friend 
though,  Freda,  when  I  tell  you  that  you've  got  a  kind 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  135 

of  stand-offish  way  with  men.  You  haven't  got  any 
reason  to  be  a  man-hater  yet,  have  you  ?  " 

"  I  like  women  better,"  Freda  answered.  "  Men 
who  take  such  good  care  of  their  hands  don't  seem 
to  have  much  in  their  heads." 

"  Some  of  them  have  got  a  good  deal  in  their 
pockets  though/'  Glenn  commented.  She  was  look- 
ing at  Freda  with  eyes  that  seemed  to  be  measuring 
her  curiously.  "  For  a  girl  right  out  of  the  wilds 
like  you  are,"  she  said  finally,  "  you've  got  an  awful 
lot  of  savvey." 

"  Madame  Peltier  told  me  when  I  first  came  that  it 
would  be  an  education  to  meet  some  of  the  people 
that  came  in  for  treatments,"  Freda  went  on,  after 
a  moment  of  silence.  "  But  it  seems  hard  to  really 
get  to  know  anybody.  Have  you  ever  made  any — 
well,  real  friends  there,  Glenn?" 

The  other  girl  laughed.  "  Not  so  that  you'd  notice 
it.  But  don't  worry.  You'll  get  an  education  all 
right." 

This  philosophy  was  not  encouraging,  and  Freda 
crept  into  bed  that  night  in  a  spirit  of  bleak  depres- 
sion. But  that  very  week  she  had  a  most  unexpected 
opportunity  for  becoming  acquainted  with  one  of  her 
patrons. 

In  the  hair-dressing  department  they  were  short- 
handed,  one  of  the  girls  being  absent  on  account  of 
illness,  and  Freda,  following  the  shop's  policy  of 


136  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

making  more  'phone  appointments  than  there  were 
hours  in  the  day,  so  that  there  would  be  no  loss  from 
canceled  engagements,  found  herself,  at  four  o'clock, 
confronting  a  personage  whom  she  saw  at  a  glance 
would  not  be  put  off  with  suave  suggestions  of  "If 
you'll  just  have  a  seat  and  wait  for  a  few  minutes," 
or  "  Your  appointment  was  at  four  o'clock  ?  Well, 
I'll  have  a  girl  for  you  in  a  very  few  moments  now." 
Miss  Constance  North  was  evidently  the  kind  of 
patron  whom  beauty  parlors  coveted.  It  would  never 
do  to  keep  her  waiting  while  half  an  hour  dragged 
by  and  Eileen  hurried  one  of  the  workers  through  a 
treatment  to  crowd  in  room  for  her.  So  Freda 
ushered  this  customer  into  a  booth  and  sought 
Eileen. 

"What  is  it,  a  hot  oil,  Freda?" 

"  No,  she  just  wants  her  hair  dressed.  I  think 
I—  If  you'd  let  me  try —  I've  watched  the  other 
girls  so  much " 

"  Go  to  it,"  Eileen  ordered.  "  You'll  never  learn 
any  younger.  And  if  you  get  stuck,  ring  my  bell  and 
I'll  drop  in  and  give  it  the  once  over." 

But  Freda  did  not  get  stuck.  She  had  learned  to 
do  her  own  hair  with  an  elaborate  affectation  of  sim- 
plicity, and  compared  with  its  abundance,  the  equally 
wavy  but  far  less  cumbersome  task  which  Miss 
North's  imposed,  seemed  easy.  She  tried  it  several 
different  ways,  studying  the  handsome  dark  face  in 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  137 

the  mirror  with  an  earnestness  which  flattered  her 
patron.  When  the  last  hairpin  was  in  place  Constance 
North  studied  the  effect  with  leisurely  approval.  "  I 
don't  know  that  my  own  maid  ever  did  it  any  bet- 
ter." And  then  as  she  paid  at  the  desk,  "  What  is 
your  name?  If  I  come  in  again  I'll  want  to  ask 
for  you." 

And  so  Freda  won  in  the  early  days  of  her  service 
that  tribute  for  which  all  white-aproned  girls  in  hair 
parlors  are  in  perpetual  contest.  But  her  acquaintance 
with  Constance  North  was  destined  for  another,  more 
revealing,  encounter. 

Three  days  later,  Madame  Peltier,  who  had  been 
forced  to  take  the  'phone  calls  herself  while  Freda 
helped  in  the  still  crippled  hair-dressing  department, 
summoned  her  to  the  desk. 

"  Did  you  give  a  hair  dress  to  Miss  Constance 
North  last  Tuesday?"  she  demanded,  measuring  the 
girl  with  her  cold,  unlighted  eyes. 

Freda  admitted  the  charge. 

"  Well,  she's  on  the  'phone  now.  She  has  not  been 
able  to  get  a  maid  yet,  and  she  wants  her  hair  dressed 
for  a  party  this  evening.  She  doesn't  wish  it  until 
late,  and  if  you  will  go  out  to  the  house,  she'll  send 
her  car  here  for  you  at  six-thirty." 

When  Freda  revealed  this  plan  to  Eileen  at  lunch 
time,  she  was  whole-heartedly  congratulatory.  "  Gee, 
kiddo !  The  Norths !  Some  swells  they  are.  They've 


138  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

got  a  huge  joint  up  on  Pacific  avenue.  They're  one 
of  the  oldest  families  in  San  Francisco.  You'll  get 
a  line  on  some  highlights  up  there." 

The  North  mansion  proved  to  be  all  that  Eileen  had 
pictured  for  her.  When  the  gray  limousine  drew  up 
at  the  entrance  that  evening  and  Freda  rang  the  bell 
at  the  side  door,  she  was  in  a  flutter  of  excitement. 
While  she  followed  the  maid  through  the  flower- 
decked  hall  and  up  the  staircase  with  its  spacious 
landings  and  long  colored  glass  windows,  she  told 
herself  that  it  was  like  one  of  the  homes  described 
in  the  novels  of  Edith  Wharton  and  Mrs.  Humphry 
Ward. 

She  found  Constance  North  in  a  brilliantly  lighted 
boudoir,  studying,  in  a  three-sided  mirror,  the  effect 
of  a  rouge  stick.  A  younger  girl  was  polishing  some 
silver  shoe  buckles  near  the  window.  As  Freda 
entered,  she  paused  a  moment  in  this  task,  gave  her 
a  friendly  nod,  and  then  pushed  forward  a  chair  for 
her  hat  and  wrap. 

Constance  laid  down  the  rouge  stick  and  turned  in 
her  chair,  gathering  a  silk  and  lace  negligee  closer 
about  her  with  one  hand.  "  So  glad  you  could  come-," 
she  said  in  a  languid  voice  that  held  a  note  of 
patronage.  "  You're  helping  me  out  of  a  bad  situa- 
tion. I'm  giving — rather  an  important  party  tonight, 
and  the  maid  whom  I  engaged  sent  word  that  she 
couldn't  be  here  until  tomorrow.  My  sister,  Miss 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  139 

Bayne."    She  performed  the  introduction  as  an  after- 
thought. 

Freda  had  taken  off  her  wrap  and  Constance  North 
eyed  her  immaculate  uniform  with  approval.  "  I'm 
glad  if  I  can  help  you,"  a  quiet  voice  assured  her. 
"  Shall  I  begin — are  you  ready  to  have  me  do  your 
hair  now  ?  " 

"  Not  quite.  I  want  to  slip  on  my  dress  first  and 
see  if  it's  all  right.  I  didn't  have  time  to  go  for  a  last 
fitting  and  it  has  just  come." 

She  threw  off  the  alluring  negligee  and  stood  wait- 
ing while  Freda  lifted,  with  fingers  that  were  almost 
reverent  in  their  care,  the  filmy  gown  from  a  cloud 
of  white  tissue  paper  on  the  cushioned  window  seat. 

"  Oh!  "  The  little  cry  of  awed  admiration  slipped 
out  as  the  light  fell  upon  the  shimmering  folds  of 
golden  gauze. 

"Do  you  like  it?"  Constance  asked,  as  Freda 
groped  for  the  ambushed  fastenings. 

"  Like  it  ?  Why — it's  wonderful !  And  you,  with 
your  fine  height  and  this  draped  effect,  why,  it  makes 
you  look  like  Ceres." 

The  girl  at  the  window  laid  down  the  buckles  and 
came  across  the  room,  eyeing  the  costume  of  Ceres 
with  casually  critical  eyes.  Freda  explored  for  the 
last  fastening,  found  it,  and  rose  from  her  knees.  She 
stepped  back,  surveying  the  tall,  striking  figure  as  a 
sculptor  might  regard  his  finished  statue. 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

"  There's  something,"  she  mused.  "  Something  not 
quite  right  about  the  way  that  court  train  effect  is 
draped  at  the  shoulders.  I'll  get  you  the  hand 
mirror." 

She  brought  it,  and  Miss  North's  face  darkened  as 
she  revolved  before  the  long  glass.  "  Well,  I  should 
say  there  is  something  the  matter  with  it!  Edna, 
look  at  that  back.  It's  a  fright!!  I  was  afraid  of 
that!  I  knew  that  that  Madame  Coralie  of  yours 
would  never  be  up  to  me.  And  you  made  me  try 
her.  You  said  that " 

She  was  working  herself  into  a  fever  of  passionate 
anger.  But  her  sister  only  shook  her  head  in  con- 
temptuous negation.  "  I  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  I 
know  better  than  to  recommend  a  modiste  or  a  doctor 
to  anybody.  I  simply  told  you  that  she  had  made  a 
success  of  my  blue  georgette,  and  that  if  you  wanted 
to  try  her  I'd  give  you  her  address.  It's  not  my  fault 
that " 

"  It  is  your  fault.  And  on  this  evening,  of  all 
times  when  I  want  to  look  my  best!  Norman 
Brewster's  friends  will  think  he's  drawn  a  prize  when 
he  claims  me  as  his  fiancee  tonight." 

Her  sister  wandered  off  through  the  adjoining  bath- 
room with  the  gleaming  buckles,  casting  a  humorously 
hopeless  glance  at  Freda  over  her  shoulder.  But 
Freda  didn't  catch  it.  She  was  down  on  her  knees 
again,  her  mouth  full  of  pins.  "  I  don't  see  that  it's 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  141 

spoiled  at  all,  Miss  North,"  she  soothed.  "  I  believe 
the  trouble  isn't  at  the  shoulders  at  all.  I  think  it's 
at  the  waistline.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  shouldn't  be 
tacked  in  there.  Would  you  be  willing  to  let  me  cut 
those  threads  ?  I  can  put  them  back  if  I  find  that  it's 
a  mistake." 

"  Cut  the  whole  thing  to  pieces  if  you  want  to.  I 
don't  care  what  you  do  with  it.  I  can  never  wear  it 
this  way." 

She  stood,  like  an  impatient  race  horse,  held  by  a 
groom,  while  Freda  clipped  invisible  stitches.  "  Oh, 
that's  much  better,"  the  girl  cried  as  she  laid  the  shears 
beside  her  on  the  floor.  "  Oh,  Miss  North,  that's 
much  better.  Look." 

She  gave  her  the  glass  again.     "  Now  if  you'll  let 

me  change  two  of  those  snaps,  here  and  here " 

She  pinned  one  of  the  folds  in  illustration. 
"  It  was  just  a  mistake  in  the  draping,  you  see. 
And  you  say  that  you  didn't  have  a  last  fitting, 
so  it's  easy  to  understand.  Why,  it's  perfect 
now." 

Slowly  the  stormy  face  of  "  Ceres  "  relaxed.  "  Yes, 
that  is  better,"  she  admitted  grudgingly.  "At  any 
rate,  I  can  wear  it  now." 

Freda  had  made  the  alteration,  and  was  just  com- 
pleting her  work  upon  Miss  North's  hair,  when  Edna 
strayed  back  again,  fastening  herself  with  leisurely 
skill  into  a  sky-blue  georgette  crepe  made  over  a  silk 


142  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

which  defied  any  one  but  an  artist  to  define  as  blue  or 
green. 

"  One  more  piece  of  bad  luck  and  I'd  call  this  revel 
off  for  tonight,"  she  advised  her  sister  cheerfully. 
"  The  caterer's  come,  but  she's  short  two  maids. 
Rose  has  been  pressed  into  service  as  waitress,  but 
there's  nobody  for  the  men's  dressing  room  upstairs. 
Mother's  standing  on  her  head." 

Constance  spun  around  with  a  swiftness  that  sent  a 
shower  of  hairpins  from  Freda's  hand  to  the  carpet. 
"  Why,  what  are  we  going  to  do  ?  Has  mother 
'phoned  to  Adeline's  agency?" 

"  Trust  mother.  But  there  are  a  lot  of  other  things 
on  for  tonight.  I  advised  her  to  let  the  men  take  care 
of  themselves.  Even  a  perfect  gentleman  ought  to  be 
able  to  find  his  own  overcoat,  and  get  it  on.  Halsey 
Myrick  is  probably  the  only  one  who'll  drink  too  much 
punch  to  recognize  his  own  hat." 

"  Edna,  you  talk  like  an  idiot.  What  would  people 
think  of  us?  What  would  they  say " 

"  You're  a  perfect  slave  to  what  people  think,  Con- 
stance. You  know  Norman  hates  this  society  business 
anyway.  When  he  takes  you  off  in  the  wilds  to  live 
like  a  hermit  while  he " 

"  I'll  never  live  like  a  hermit  for  anybody.  I  don't 
care  what  Norman  thinks  about  it.  He  has  no 
standards  of  what  is  proper.  But  there  are  going  to 
be  other  people  here  tonight,  Edna." 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  143 

Freda  had  finished  her  work  now,  and  when  Miss 
North  was  dressed,  she  left  her  explaining  the  altera- 
tions in  her  gown  to  her  sister,  and  went  into  the 
adjoining  bedroom  to  hang  up  the  discarded  negligee. 

"  Who  is  she  anyway?  "  The  voice  of  the  volatile 
Edna,  carefully  lowered  but  with  a  vibrant  element 
which  carried  easily,  came  to  her  through  the  half- 
open  door.  "  Dropping  nonchalant  allusions  to  Ceres, 
and  yet  knowing  enough  to  come  in  at  the  side  door 
instead  of  the  front,  who  is  she?  " 

Freda  walked  away  out  of  earshot  of  the  reply,  but 
Edna's  voice  came  to  her  again.  "  I'd  try  it.  No 
harm  to  ask  her,  and  she  certainly  puts  up  a  good  ap- 
pearance. It  might  save  mother  from  nervous  pros- 
tration." 

Half  an  hour  later,  Freda  found  herself  in  charge 
of  the  gentleman's  dressing  room,  a  luxurious  apart- 
ment furnished  in  dark  oak  with  dull  gold  hangings. 
The  almost  frenzied  entreaty  of  Constance  North,  and 
her  own  yearning  to  prolong  her  stay  in  these  palatial 
surroundings,  had  proved  a  combination  of  appeal  too 
strong  to  be  resisted.  Her  dinner  had  been  sent  up 
on  a  tray,  and  she  had  eaten  in  solitary  state  and  then 
carried  the  dishes  down  to  the  kitchen  herself  to  save 
any  extra  steps  for  the  distracted  Rose. 

As  she  stole  back  up  the  heavily  carpeted  staircase, 
a  sense  of  infinite  content  enveloped  her.  Certainly, 
she  told  herself  as  she  snapped  on  the  chiffonniere 


144  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

lights  according  to  her  instructions,  certainly  she  had 
never  been  in  such  a  mansion  as  this  before,  had  never 
seen  one,  outside  of  those  pictured  in  books,  and  yet 
she  had  a  curious,  unaccountable  sensation  of  fa- 
miliarity with  it  all. 

While  she  waited  for  the  arrival  of  the  first  guests, 
she  wandered  slowly  about  the  vast  room,  finding  an 
exquisite  joy  in  the  feel  of  velvet  under  her  feet,  the 
delicately  shaded  lights,  the  voluptuous  chairs,  which 
she  tried  one  after  another,  the  gleaming  cheval  glass, 
where  she  stood  for  a  moment  surveying  her  austere 
little  uniformed  figure. 

And  so,  walking  slowly  down  the  long  chamber, 
she  came  at  last  to  the  bookshelves.  They  were  built 
into  the  wall  and  inclosed  in  diamond-pane  glass 
doors.  Freda  opened  one  of  these  and  read  the  titles 
hungrily.  They  were  chiefly  late  novels  with  here  and 
there  copies  of  Scott  and  the  English  poets  in  expen- 
sive unused  editions.  One  volume,  pushed  in  at  ran- 
dom among  the  poets  on  the  top  shelf,  was  unfamiliar 
and  she  drew  it  out  and  held  it  under  the  light.  The 
tide,  "  Thumbs  Down,"  stared  back  at  her  and  seemed 
vaguely  familiar.  It  was  a  collection  of  short  stories, 
and  as  she  ran  her  eye  over  the  indexed  page  she  re- 
called having  read  some  of  them  when  they  had  ap- 
peared in  one  of  the  standard  magazines.  She  drew 
one  of  the  voluptuous  chairs  under  the  light  and  began 
a  closer  inspection  of  the  contents  of  the  volume. 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  145 

The  room  was  very  quiet.  The  light  was  excellent. 
The  chair,  a  dream  of  comfort,  and  the  story  that  she 
chose,  enthralling.  She  had  turned  many  pages,  but 
was  sure  that  she  had  been  reading  not  more  than  five 
minutes,  when  a  voice  spoke  close  beside  her. 

"Is  this  the  gentleman's  dressing  room?" 

Freda  jumped  up  and  confronted  the  questioner 
with  a  guilty  start. 

"  I — I  didn't  hear  you  come  in/'  she  stammered. 

He  reached  down  and  picked  up  the  book  which  had 
tumbled  to  the  floor.  "  I  was  afraid  I  had  strayed 
into  the  wrong  room,"  he  explained  genially. 

"  I  don't  wonder.  I — I  wasn't  very  attentive.  I 
forgot  where  I  was." 

He  stood  before  her  in  a  luxurious-looking  over- 
coat, turning  the  pages  of  the  volume  which  he  had 
recovered.  "  I  see  you're  reading  Spence.  Do  you 
like  him?" 

"  I  love  him."  Freda's  voice  was  vibrant  with  its 
old  ardent  quality. 

He  stood  flipping  the  leaves  with  idle  curiosity. 
"  Why?  What  sort  of  stuff  is  it?  " 

"  Oh,  haven't  you  read  any  of  them?  Some  of  the 
stories  came  out  in  '  The  Scribbler's  Magazine/ 

They're  so  beautifully  done — so "  She  paused, 

struggling  to  find  words.  "  I  think  he's  a  little  like 
Stevenson,"  she  finished. 

He  laid  the  book  upon  the  chiffonniere.    "  If  that's 


146  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

so,  I'll  read  him."  He  threw  off  his  coat  and  flung  it 
over  a  chair.  When  Freda  had  rescued  it  and  fitted 
it  over  a  decorous  hanger,  she  found  him  looking  at 
her  while  he  drew  off  his  gloves.  He  had  the  deep- 
set,  intense  eyes  of  the  scholar,  but  his  bearing  and 
voice  were  those  of  a  man  of  the  world.  His  hair, 
which  had  once  been  unmistakably  coal  black,  was 
prematurely  gray,  and  it  gave  to  the  dark  eyes  a  pre- 
ter naturally  youthful  appearance. 

"  About  thirty,"  Freda  mused,  sizing  him  up  with 
feminine  finality.  And  then  when  he  smiled,  she 
hastily  subtracted  three  years  from  this  sentence. 

He  showed  no  haste  to  depart  for  the  festive  scene 
below,  but  strolled  over  to  the  bookshelves.  "  I'm 
curious  to  know,"  he  said,  "  where  you  found  that 
volume.  Was  it  on  top,  or  inside  this  case?  " 

"  Inside." 

He  smiled  inscrutably.  "  I  imagined  so.  Nobody 
in  this  house  desecrates  books  by  taking  them  off  of 
shelves." 

"  Nobody  anywhere  seems  to  do  it — as  much  as 
you'd  think  they  would."  Freda  was  thinking  of  Four 
Corners,  and  of  her  associates  at  the  hair  store,  and 
speaking  more  to  herself  than  to  him.  But  he  caught 
up  her  words  at  once. 

"You  mean  that  people  don't  read — as  they  used 
to?" 

"  Well,  of  course  I  don't  know  many  people,"  she 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  147 

explained  hurriedly.  "  And  perhaps  the  kind  of  peo- 
ple I  do  know Perhaps  it  isn't  fair  to  judge  by 

them.  But  everywhere,  the  people  I've  watched,  they 
read  for  pleasure  when  there  is  nothing  else  to  do, 
but  they  don't  seem  to  have  to  do  it.  That's  what  I 
mean." 

He  was  looking  down  at  her,  a  little  puzzled  light 
in  his  eyes.  And  then  all  at  once,  swept  out  of  her 
habitual  reserve  by  her  encounter  with  this  man  who 
cared  for  the  things  for  which  she  cared  so  passion- 
ately, Freda  found  herself  talking  to  him  about 
books,  about  authors,  about  the  world's  great  litera- 
ture, and  what  these  had  meant  to  her.  And  he 
listened  with  that  responsive  sympathy  which  is  the 
most  potent  of  all  stimulants  to  a  dawning  confidence. 
During  that  brief  ten  minutes  she  shed  what  Glenn 
had  called  her  "  stand-offish  "  manner,  and  revealed, 
all  unconsciously,  to  this  guest  of  the  Norths',  her  wist- 
ful, eager,  culture-hungry  heart. 

And  then  the  room  began  to  fill,  and  Freda,  re- 
called suddenly  to  her  duties,  began  to  assist  with 
overcoats  and  tall  silk  hats.  When  she  was  alone 
again,  and  sounds  of  distant  music  told  her  that  the 
dancing  had  begun,  she  sank  into  a  chair  and  took 
up  her  book.  At  first  it  was  difficult  to  get  back  into 
the  atmosphere  of  the  story,  for  the  face  and  the 
voice  of  "  The  Old  Young  Man,"  as  she  had  dubbed 
him,  would  not  be  banished  from  her  mind.  It  had 


148  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

been  a  wonderful  experience,  to  meet  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life  a  stranger  who  lived  in  her  world, 
who  spoke  its  language.  It  must  be  an  inspiration,  a 
perpetual  inspiration,  to  have  friends  who  understood, 
to  whom  one  must  look  up,  for  whom  no  allowances 
need  be  made,  no  apologies  offered  to  one's  self. 

The  maid  from  across  the  hall  in  the  ladies'  room 
appeared  breathless  at  the  door.  "  Say,  I  think  they're 
all  here  now.  Clara  says  the  announcement  is  goin' 
to  be  made  just  after  the  next  dance.  If  you  want 
to  come  down  the  back  way  with  me  I'll  show  you 
a  place,  just  back  of  the  ballroom,  where  we  can 
rubber." 

She  hurried  on  down  the  hall  to  the  back  stairs 
and  Freda  reached  for  her  book.  But  there  was  a 
mist  before  her  eyes  now.  Somehow  the  maid's 
friendly  suggestion  had  jarred  her  out  of  a  golden 
revery.  The  realization  came  to  her,  with  a  shock, 
that  in  this  house  she  was  a  maid,  an  assistant  to  the 
caterer.  The  all-enveloping  white  apron  was  a  badge 
of  servitude.  To  the  men  who  had  carelessly  thrown 
her  their  hats  and  coats,  she  was  merely  a  waiting 
maid,  probably  engaged  to  the  butler,  and  flirting 
with  their  chauffeurs  downstairs.  It  had  all  seemed 
an  adventure  before,  a  novelty,  something  to  tell  the 
girls  at  the  breakfast  table.  Now  a  hot  shame  surged 
over  her.  And  that  she  was  ashamed  of  this  shame 
was  the  keenest  pang  of  all. 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  149 

"Why  should  /  mind?"  she  asked  herself  bitterly. 
"Any  servant  in  this  house  has  a  right  to  hold  her 
head  higher  than  I." 

She  took  up  her  book  again  and  finished  that  story 
and  another  before  there  was  a  sound  of  footsteps 
in  the  upper  hall.  The  music  downstairs  had  stopped. 
It  was  after  midnight  and  the  guests  were  coming 
back  to  the  drawing  room.  A  puffy- faced  man,  who 
seemed  to  be  straining  the  buttons  of  his  white  vest, 
came  down  the  hall  and  into  the  room.  Freda  went 
over  and  selected  his  coat  from  the  file  of  dark  gar- 
ments hanging  in  somber  row.  He  took  it  from  her 
and  then  laid  his  hat  among  the  silver-backed  brushes 
of  the  chiffonniere. 

"  M-must  have  been  lonesome  up  here  all  by  your- 
self, w-weren't  you?"  he  suggested,  looking  at  her 
with  eyes  that  were  frankly  admiring. 

She  picked  up  the  hat  and  handed  it  to  him  again. 
"  Good-night,  sir,"  she  said  gravely. 

"  D-don't  hurry  me,"  he  entreated,  "w-when  I  came 
up  ahead  of  the  others  j-just  to  see  you."  He  fum- 
bled in  his  pocket  and  the  next  moment  a  silver  dollar 
gleamed  in  his  outstretched  palm.  Other  footsteps 
were  approaching  the  door  now,  but  Freda  scarcely 
heard  them. 

"What  is  that  for?"  she  asked  incredulously. 

"  For  you.  F-for  the  prettiest  little  queen  in  this 
house  tonight." 


150  CINDERELLA  AND  CERES 

In  a  voice  that  should  have  frozen  him,  even  under 
the  luxurious  overcoat,  she  said  quietly,  "  Keep  your 
money — for  one  of  the  servants.'* 

But  her  repulse  of  his  tip  seemed  only  to  increase 
his  admiration.  He  struggled  to  replace  the  money 
in  his  pocket  and  it  rolled  to  the  floor  under  the 
chiffonniere. 

"  Leave  it  alone,"  he  said,  still  smiling  at  her. 
"  Leave  it  for  the  shervants  to  pick  up."  He  reached 
for  his  hat,  then  came  a  step  closer  to  her.  "I'll  take 
you  home  tonight  if  you'll  just  shay  the  word.  If 
you'll  get  into  my  car,  the  one  with  the " 

Suddenly  Freda  saw  him  reel  before  her  under  the 
ferocious  grip  of  some  one  who  had  crossed  the  room 
behind  them.  "Get  downstairs,  My  rick!"  a  deep 
voice  ordered.  "  Get  downstairs — before  I  kick  you 
down!" 

When  he  had  gone,  still  smiling  and  mumbling 
apologies,  the  Old  Young  Man  turned  to  Freda. 
"  Don't  give  him  another  thought,"  he  said  lightly. 
"  Myrick  couldn't  distinguish  between  a  charwoman 
and  a  duchess  after  twelve  o'clock  at  night.  He 
didn't  know  that  he  was  being  insulting." 

"  I  suppose  I  shouldn't  feel  insulted  at  all,"  she  told 
him  slowly.  "  But — I  dreamed  that  I  was  Cinderella, 
and  he  has  made  the  clock  strike.  Thank  you  very 
much  for — what  you  did." 

He  held  out  his  hand.     "  I  don't  know  who  you 


CINDERELLA  AND  CERES  151 

are,  Miss  Cinderella.  But  I  want  to  thank  you  for 
something;  for  giving  me  the  first  real  taste  of  con- 
versation this  evening  that  I've  had  for  months." 

The  maid  from  across  the  hall  came  in  as  he  left, 
to  announce  that  a  taxicab  had  come  for  Freda. 
"He's  a  good-lookin'  feller,  isn't  he?"  she  said,  nod- 
ding in  the  direction  of  the  departing  guest.  "  He's 
the  best  lookin'  of  all  the  fellers  that  was  here 
tonight  /  think.  He  and  Miss  North  make  a  fine 
lookin'  couple." 

That  night  when  Norman  Brewster  and  Carlton, 
the  friend  with  whom  he  shared  a  suite  in  one  of  the 
downtown  hotels,  reached  their  apartments,  they  set- 
tled into  deep  armchairs  for  a  be  fore-bed  smoke. 

"  You  don't  look  much  like  a  happy  bridegroom- 
elect,"  Carter  told  his  friend  jovially.  "  Buck  up, 
man.  What  in  the  devil  are  you  so  serious  for? 
You're  not  married  yet, — only  engaged.  And  Con- 
stance looked  like  a  goddess  tonight,  like  a  goddess." 

"  Yes,"  his  companion  agreed  absently.  "  Yes — 
quite  like  a  goddess." 

But  later,  when  the  lights  were  out  and  he  lay  star- 
ing into  the  night,  he  told  himself  grimly  that,  "  I 
can't  think  of  anything  that  I  need  less  in  my  life  just 
now  than  a  goddess." 


PART   FOUR:    AN   ADVENTURE 
IN   BABYLON 


VIII 

IN  narrating  her  evening's  adventures  at  Constance 
North's  announcement  party,  the  next  morning, 
Freda  avoided  mention  of  either  of  the  guests  who 
had  made  it,  for  her,  a  memorable  occasion.  She 
dwelt  at  length  upon  descriptions  of  the  gowns  worn 
by  the  North  sisters,  upon  the  house  decorations,  and 
the  duties  of  her  own  impromptu  role,  and  with  these 
details,  becolored  and  bespiced  by  her  ready  vocabu- 
lary, Eileen  and  Glenn  were  completely  content. 

"  Some  party !  "  Eileen  commented  approvingly. 
"  What's  your  next  play  in  the  great  social  game, 
kiddo?" 

Freda  laughed.  "  I've  only  one  card  in  my  hand 
just  now,  and  that  doesn't  promise  many  thrills. 
But  I'm  hoping  that  I  will  get  a  chance  to  play  it 
some  time.  It  was  given  to  me  by  Miss  Judson.  She's 
the  most  interesting  person  I've  met  in  the  shop,  and 
she  always  asks  for  me  when  she  comes  in." 

"  You  mean  that  trim,  good-looking,  elderly  spin- 
ster? Every  feather  just  in  place?  Glenn  and  I  call 
her  '  The  Sparrow.'  She  works  in  one  of  the  down- 
town stores,  doesn't  she?" 

"  Yes.  At  the  '  Booklover's  '  book  store,  just  two 

155 


156          AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

blocks  above  us.  She's  a  little  abrupt  in  her  speech, 
but  just  a  dear  when  you  get  to  know  her.  The  last 
time  I  gave  her  a  treatment,  she  invited  me  to  spend 
a  Sunday  with  her  at  her  bungalow  near  the  beach. 
I  hope  she  won't  forget  it,  for  I'm  just  crazy  to  go." 

It  was  the  very  next  week  that  Miss  Judson  re- 
newed this  invitation.  Hurrying  into  the  hair  shop, 
just  before  closing  time,  she  asked  for  Freda.  "  My 
sister  and  I  shall  expect  you  out  on  Sunday,"  she  an- 
nounced with  peremptory  hospitality.  "  I've  written 
the  car  directions  on  this  card.  Be  there  at  one 
o'clock,  please,  for  we  dine  at  that  hour  and  never 
wait  for  anybody." 

It  was  unnecessary  for  them  to  break  this  record 
on  Freda's  account,  for  she  arrived  at  the  beach 
bungalow  just  before  that  hour,  timing  her  departure 
from  the  flat  with  an  accuracy  which  amused  the  two 
other  girls.  "  Why,  Freda,  you  look  so  excited.  Any- 
body'd  think  you  were  goin'  to  spend  the  day  joy- 
ridin'  with  the  king  of  the  limousine  dynasty,"  Glenn 
had  told  her.  "You  get  pleasure  out  of  the  most 
curious  things !  A  day  out  at  the  beach,  with  two  old 
maids,  wouldn't  thrill  me,  but  you're  elected  for  the 
highbrow  bunch  all  right.  It's  in  the  cards." 

Glenn  invariably  ended  her  prognostications  with 
this  assurance.  The  declaration,  uttered  with  almost 
sepulchral  finality,  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  occult 
science  of  telling  fortunes  with  cards,  but  was  expres- 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  157 

sive  of  a  sort  of  inarticulate  piety;  an  abiding  belief 
in  the  guidance  of  an  inscrutable  Providence. 

Freda  found  her  two  hostesses  clipping  off  blighted 
roses  in  the  old-fashioned  garden  that  surrounded 
their  very  modern  bungalow.  "  Wind  just  ruins  them 
out  here,"  Miss  Judson  explained,  when  introductions 
were  over.  "  I  tell  Marcia  that  we  shouldn't  try  to 
have  anything  but  geraniums  and  weeds  like  that,  but 
she  will  persist  with  these.  She  will  persist  with  the 
garden  recipes  out  of  magazines." 

Miss  Marcia  Judson  smiled  with  the  tolerance  of 
one  long  used  to  these  upbraidings.  She  was  so  much 
like  her  sister  that  she  seemed  to  be  but  a  living 
prophecy  of  what  ten  more  years  would  do  to  the 
younger  Miss  Judson.  It  was  she  who  called  them 
in  to  dinner  ten  minutes  later  and  presided  at  the 
round  table  in  the  glass-inclosed  dining  room. 

Freda  was  enchanted  with  this  room,  from  whose 
windows  she  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  patches  of  blue 
ocean  beyond  the  sand  dunes.  "  I  designed  it  for  a 
sun  parlor,"  the  elder  Miss  Judson  told  her.  "  But  it 
has  come  to  be  dining  room  and  living  room  as  well. 
It's  easier  to  heat  than  any  other  part  of  the  house, 
and  my  sister  and  I  are  not  native  Calif ornians; 
we've  got  to  have  our  house  warm.  The  people 
out  here " 

"  Now,  Marcia,  don't  get  started  on  that  hobby," 
her  sister  entreated. 


158          AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

"  The  people  out  here,"  Miss  Judson  continued, 
unheeding,  "  seem  to  think  that  if  they  put  a  furnace 
into  a  house,  it's  an  admission  that  the  climate  isn't 
what  it  is  advertised  to  be.  Wear  summer  clothes  all 
the  year  'round,  and  swing  outside  under  orange  trees 
at  Christmas  time.  That  was  my  idea  of  it  before  I 
came  out,  and  the  first  house  I  built  was  drawn  to 
that  plan.  But  I  never  make  the  same  mistake 
twice." 

It  developed,  during  the  conversation,  that  Miss 
Marcia  Judson  was  an  architect;  an  architect  of  some 
note,  who  had  designed  several  of  the  most  unique 
residences  in  the  city.  After  dinner  she  yielded  to  her 
sister's  suggestion  and  Freda's  entreaties,  and  took 
her  into  the  workroom  which  occupied  the  whole 
upper  half -story,  and  was  reached  by  a  romantic  little 
circular  stairway  artfully  concealed  in  the  telephone 
passage. 

"  Why,  it's  the  dearest  bungalow  I  ever  saw ! " 
Freda  cried,  as  she  tried  the  view  from  one  dormer 
window  to  the  other.  "  I  shouldn't  think  you'd  ever 
want  to  go  out  anywhere;  I  never  would  if  I  had  a 
house  like  this." 

Her  responsive  enthusiasm  quite  won  the  elder  Miss 
Judson's  heart,  and  she  took  the  trouble  to  explain 
a  set  of  plans  which  were  then  under  construction  for 
a  bungalow  hotel  project.  Before  they  left  the  work- 
room, Freda's  eyes  fell  upon  a  one-story  concrete 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  159 

house  with  quaint  green  roof  just  visible  behind  a 
clump  of  sapling  eucalypti  several  blocks  away. 

"You  built  that  house  too,  Miss  Judson,"  she  ex- 
claimed with  sudden  conviction.  "  I  don't  know  what 
there  is  about  it,  but — well,  it's  like  literature ;  I  never 
knew  it  before,  but  houses  have  just  as  definite  a  style 
as  books,  and  you  can  tell  the  builders  after  you've 
seen  some  of  their  work." 

"  That,"  Miss  Judson  announced,  "  is  my  master- 
piece. It's  the  one  house,  among  all  my  family,  that 
I  wouldn't  change  in  any  regard.  It's  perfect,  and 
I'm  not  egotistical  in  saying  it.  Anybody  but  a  fool 
knows  when  his  work  is  poor,  and  when  it  is  good. 
I'd  like  to  have  you  see  that  house.  Care  to  go 
over?" 

"  I  was  going  over  anyway,"  her  sister  explained. 
"  I  have  a  book  for  Mr.  Meggs  that  I've  been  prom- 
ising to  bring  out  all  this  week.  He's  an  invalid," 
she  went  on,  as  the  trio  made  their  way  down  the 
newly  paved  vacant  blocks  •  toward  the  lonely  little 
house  with  the  green  roof,  "  and  although  he  drives 
about  in  his  car  a  great  deal,  he  doesn't  like  to  get 
out  downtown.  Very  interesting  man  in  some 
ways." 

They  found  a  shiny,  luxurious  little  car  in  front  of 
the  door  when  they  arrived,  but  the  colored  man  who 
answered  their  ring  assured  them  that  Mr.  Meggs 
was  not  going  out.  "  He's  jus'  come  in,"  he  ex- 


160          AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

plained.  And  then,  with  the  instinctive  hospitality  of 
his  race,  "  Walk  right  in,  ladies.  He'll  suttinly  be 
glad  to  see  yo',  very  glad  indeed." 

He  returned  a  moment  later,  wheeling  an  invalid 
chair  noiselessly  over  the  hardwood,  rug-covered  floor, 
and  their  host  extended  his  hand  in  cordial,  eager 
greeting. 

Martin  Meggs  was  a  man  in  the  early  thirties,  with 
the  high  forehead  and  wide-apart  eyes  of  the  student, 
and  a  sensitive  nose  as  finely  chiseled  as  that  of  a 
Greek  god.  With  these  features,  the  full  lips  and 
slightly  irresolute  chin  seemed  in  constant  conflict. 

The  colored  man  vanished  as  quietly  as  he  had 
come  and  Mr.  Meggs  wheeled  himself  closer  to  the 
luxurious  divan  on  which  his  guests  had  seated  them- 
selves. He  managed  so  adroitly  that  the  attendant 
seemed  a  superfluous  encumbrance.  "  I  tried  to  get 
you  last  night,  Miss  Judson,"  he  said  when  the  greet- 
ings were  over,  "but  my  'phone  and  car  have  both 
been  out  of  order.  I  wanted  you  folks  to  have  sup- 
per with  me  tonight,  and  now  your  coming  has  con- 
vinced me  without  a  doubt  that  I  have  a  genius  for 
wireless  messages.  You  will  stay,  won't  you?" 

He  spoke  to  the  elder  Miss  Judson  but  his  eyes 
rested  upon  Freda. 

"  Nothing  so  alluring  as  one  of  your  Sunday  night 
suppers,"  Miss  Marcia  responded.  "  You  know  we 
never  require  any  urging."  She  turned  to  Freda. 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  161 

"You  can  stay,  can't  you?  We  always  leave  early 
and " 

"  Oh,  no/'  she  protested  hurriedly,  embarrassed  at 
her  inclusion  in  this  neighborly  party.  "  I  must  get 
home.  I " 

"  You  live  here  in  the  city  ?  "  Martin  Meggs  inter- 
posed. "  Ah,  well,  you  have  no  defense  then.  It's 
only  the  suburbanites  who  can  plead  boat  and  train 
connections.  I'll  take  you  home  in  my  car  any  time 
you  wish  to  go." 

Sunday  night  supper  in  this  darling  bachelor  house ! 
It  was  irresistible,  and  there  was  no  good  reason  to 
refuse.  And  so  the  afternoon  with  "  the  two  old 
maids  out  at  the  beach  "  took  a  most  unexpectedly 
romantic  turn. 

"You  won't  mind  if  I  show  Miss  Bayne  the 
house  ? "  Miss  Marcia  Judson  suggested,  when  the 
matter  had  been  settled.  "Of  course  that's  what  we 
came  for,  Martin." 

"  Of  course,"  he  assented  with  whimsical  resigna- 
tion. "  Miss  Bayne,  when  you  decide  to  build  a 
house,  get  Miss  Judson  to  plan  it  for  you.  She'll 
supply  you  with,  not  merely  the  house,  but  the  com- 
pany without  which  no  home  is  complete.  I  never  get 
lonely.  My  life  is  a  succession  of  delightful  '  house ' 
parties." 

Freda  followed  her  guide  from  the  long  living  room 
into  the  den  adjoining,  a  typical  man's  room  with  wide 


i62  AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

fireplace,  cavernous  chairs  and  Mission  oak  table  and 
bookcase.  The  house  was  built  in  form  of  a  U,  the 
two  ends  at  the  rear  inclosing  a  miniature  cement  court 
partially  roofed  by  the  broad  projecting  eaves,  under 
whose  shelter  were  several  steamer  chairs  and  a  rattan 
tabaret  with  newspapers,  pipe,  and  ash  tray.  In  the 
unprotected  center  a  family  of  goldfish  disported  them- 
selves in  a  sunken  pool,  and  over  at  the  farthest 
corner,  a  scrub  oak,  which  had  escaped  the  ravages 
of  encroaching  civilization,  cast  its  sparse  shade. 
The  two  bedrooms  on  the  extreme  ends  of  the 
wings,  the  dining  room,  and  den  opened  into  this 
court. 

"  You're  seeing  it  at  its  very  best  today,"  the  archi- 
tect explained  with  characteristic  candor.  It  was  one 
of  those  genial  summer  afternoons  that  visit  the  bay 
city  late  in  September,  and  linger  during  the  first 
weeks  of  autumn,  as  though  reluctant  to  surrender  it 
to  the  vagaries  of  winter. 

"  Martin  has  to  live  outside,"  Miss  Judson  con- 
tinued, "  and  he  won't  inhabit  southern  California 
where  this  type  of  bungalow  belongs,  so  I  had  to 
adapt  this  to  his  whims  and  my  common  sense.  It 
was  difficult,  but  money  and  the  right  exposure  can 
do  almost  anything  in  the  matter  of  outwitting  cli- 
mate. You'll  see  when  I  show  you  the  bedrooms, 
that  they  are  really  elaborated  sleeping  porches.  The 
kitchen  is  finished  in  polished  white  tile;  every  inch 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  163 

can  be  washed,  though  sometimes  I  am  obliged  to  re- 
mind William  of  this." 

She  led  the  way  to  the  left  wing,  and  Freda  found 
herself  in  a  room  full  of  casement  windows  which 
afforded  a  view  of  well  curbed  streets  and  a  winding 
ribbon  of  asphalt  boulevard.  "  It's  building  up  out 
here,"  Miss  Judson  sighed.  "  Plans  are  being  drawn 
for  several  new  houses  in  this  tract,  but  I  tell  my 
sister  we  can't  expect  to  be  unmolested  forever. 
Martin  is  an  ideal  neighbor;  never  around  when  we 
don't  want  him,  and  always  available  when  we  do." 

She  surveyed  the  man-made  comforts  of  the  room 
with  the  interest  which  every  woman  feels  in  bachelor 
apartments.  "  It's  a  pathetic  sort  of  story,"  she  said 
with  the  abrupt  change  of  subject  that  never  permitted 
a  listener's  attention  to  lag.  "  Our  families  knew  each 
other  back  east.  The  two  brothers  were  both  in  love 
with  the  same  woman.  Martin's  father  had  con- 
tracted tuberculosis  in  the  tropics,  where  he'd  lived 
several  years.  His  brother,  who  is  a  prominent 
physician,  warned  him  that  it  was  dangerous  for  him 
to  marry,  but  he  attributed  this  to  jealousy,  and  he 
won  and  married  the  girl  they  both  loved.  When 
Martin  was  born,  about  six  years  later,  his  mother 
had  contracted  the  disease  too,  and  by  the  time  the 
boy  was  ten,  he  had  lost  both  his  parents.  The  uncle, 
who  has  never  married,  assumed  his  brother's  respon- 
sibilities and  raised  the  boy.  Because  he  kept  him  on 


164          AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

a  New  England  farm,  it  seemed  that  he  had  over- 
come his  natural  tendency  and  would  fulfil  his  uncle's 
dream  of  becoming  a  companionable  son,  who  would 
compensate  him,  in  a  measure,  for  the  lost  love  of  his 
youth.  But  life  cheated  the  doctor  again.  Unfor- 
tunately Martin  was  not  content  with  agriculture.  He 
craved  a  professional  career,  and  his  uncle  yielded 
again  to  the  inevitable  and  sent  him  through  the  Har- 
vard law  school.  During  his  last  year  there,  he  was 
hurt  on  the  football  field,  and  his  left  arm  and  hip  are 
paralyzed.  The  indoor  work  and  this  shock  brought 
on  the  old  trouble,  so  he  came  out  here  with  a  wrecked 
career  behind  him  and  a  colorless  future  ahead.  The 
doctor  seldom  writes  to  him,  but  he  keeps  him  well 
supplied  with  money  and  has  become  himself  a  fanatic 
on  the  subject  of  eugenics. " 

Miss  Judson  forgot  the  story  almost  as  soon  as  it 
was  told,  but  the  hopelessness  of  it  haunted  the  girl's 
impressionable  mind.  When  they  rejoined  the  other 
two  in  the  blue  and  cream  dining  room,  she  saw  her 
host  in  a  new  light.  Though  the  heart  of  youth  de- 
mands happiness  for  itself  as  its  rightful  heritage, 
tragedy  in  the  life  of  another  envelops  its  victim  in 
a  rose-colored  glow  more  alluring  than  any  of  the 
enticements  which  fortune  might  supply. 

Martin  Meggs,  presiding  at  his  table  with  the  easy 
informality  of  the  ideal  host,  Martin  Meggs  making 
rarebit  over  the  electric  plate,  with  the  adeptness  of 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  165 

the  cabaret  chef,  and  percolating  the  cafe  noir,  alert 
and  attentive  to  the  needs  of  his  guests,  was  now  a 
tragedy  star,  and  his  dexterity  the  crowning  pathos  of 
his  part. 

It  was  still  early  evening  when  the  little  supper 
party  dispersed  and  William  wheeled  Martin  Meggs 
out  to  the  waiting  roadster.  The  Judsons  declined 
his  invitation  to  drive  them  home,  preferring  to  walk 
back  along  the  poppy-lined  blocks.  So  Freda  took 
the  front  seat  beside  her  host,  averting  her  eyes  as 
William  helped  him  make  the  painful  transition  from 
the  wheel  chair,  and  stored  a  pair  of  crutches  upon 
the  rear  seat  in  case  of  emergency. 

But  with  the  starting  of  the  car,  Martin  Meggs  be- 
came a  transformed  creature.  The  pathetic  depend- 
ence of  the  invalid  vanished  as  completely  as  though 
he  had  flung  it,  like  a  discarded  wrap,  into  the  empty 
chair.  He  was  a  normal  being  now  with  all  the  self- 
assurance  and  quiet  mastery  of  vigorous  manhood. 
His  sound  arm  and  leg  controlled  the  machine  with 
the  ease  of  an  expert.  He  drove  at  the  limit  of  the 
speed  law,  stretched  it  a  little  on  the  unpopulous 
blocks,  but  Freda  felt  as  safe  with  him  as  though  they 
had  been  jogging  along  on  one  of  the  farm  wagons 
at  the  ranch. 

Very  tactfully  she  conveyed  this  assurance  to  him, 
and  he  smiled  without  shifting  his  steady  gaze  from 
the  street  ahead.  "  I'm  only  half  a  man  at  home," 


i66  AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

he  said,  and  although  she  flushed  at  mention  of  his 
affliction,  she  knew  that  he  spoke  of  it  to  relieve  her 
embarrassment.  "  But  when  I'm  out  with  '  Gold- 
Dust  '  I  have  almost  human  intelligence.  I  call  her 
Gold  Dust  because  she  makes  the  dirt  fly,  and  we've 
tested  the  roads  in  almost  every  section  of  this  state. 
William  goes  along  too,  but  he's  just  for  ballast.  If 
you're  satisfied  with  that  recommendation,  we  might 
make  up  a  little  party  with  the  Judsons  next  Sunday 
and  go  down  the  peninsula." 

Down  the  peninsula!  If  he  had  said  "  around  Cape 
Horn,"  it  wouldn't  have  been  more  alluring.  It 
seemed  too  glittering  a  prospect  to  really  materialize, 
but  it  did,  and  the  very  next  Sunday  found  the  little 
touring  party  down  in  the  Santa  Clara  valley.  They 
stopped  under  a  clump  of  trees  at  the  side  of  the  road 
and  enjoyed  the  elaborate  cold  supper  which  William 
had  provided  and  whose  bounty  the  Judsons  sup- 
plemented with  thermos  bottles  of  hot  coffee.  And 
when  "  Gold  Dust "  drew  up  at  the  Fillmore  street 
flat  that  evening,  Freda  felt  that  she  knew  Martin 
Meggs  very  well,  and  that  life  had  become  glorious 
and  very  kind. 

The  month  that  followed,  brought  vexing  prob- 
lems that  Freda  had  pondered  before  but  which  now 
demanded  definite  solution.  The  two  Sunday  after- 
noon excursions  seemed  in  an  indefinable  way  to  have 
accentuated  the  meagerness  of  her  wardrobe  and  her 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  167 

lack  of  many  things  which  the  girls  all  about  her 
seemed  to  possess  as  a  matter  of  course.  Her  posi- 
tion at  the  desk  had  required  a  new  dress,  which  had 
been  bought  and  made  by  Madame  Peltier's  own 
modiste  at  the  reduced  rates  which,  by  some  mysteri- 
ous arrangement,  she  offered  to  the  girls  in  the  hair 
shop.  It  was  a  black  messaline,  far  more  expensive 
in  its  artful  simplicity  than  any  gown  which  Freda 
had  ever  dreamed  of  owning  for  party  wear.  But 
among  the  clinging  crepe  meteors  and  georgette 
crepes  of  the  other  girls,  it  passed  entirely  without 
comment  among  them. 

Only  fifty  dollars  remained  of  the  little  horde  which 
Freda  had  brought  with  her  in  the  old  suitcase, 
and  although  she  had  been  at  the  hair  shop  almost 
four  months  now,  there  had  been  no  hint  of  placing 
her  upon  the  salary  basis  which  this  term  of  service 
had  achieved  for  others  who  had  passed  their  period 
of  apprenticeship.  The  desk  position  seemed  a  handi- 
cap rather  than  a  promotion. 

How  did  the  other  girls  manage  to  stretch  their 
salaries  over  the  extravagances  of  varied  wardrobes, 
amusements,  corsage  bouquets,  and  the  hundred  other 
luxuries  which  city  life  seemed  to  demand?  Eileen 
was  the  best  dressed  girl  in  the  shop,  but  she  earned 
a  better  salary  than  any  of  the  others.  Glenn  was 
clever  with  her  needle  and  made  most  of  the  pink  silk 
and  lace  underclothes  which  she  wore.  But  she  af- 


168          AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

forded  music  lessons,  and  always  attended  the  expen- 
sive concerts  and  musical  comedies.  Night  after 
night  as  Freda  lay  awake  struggling  with  the  prob- 
lem, she  told  herself  that  she  would  have  an  inter- 
view with  Madame  Peltier  herself  on  the  subject  of 
finances.  But  in  the  morning  her  resolution  fled. 
The  girls  themselves  were  reticent  in  their  mention 
of  their  personal  affairs.  "  You'll  take  us  as  you  find 
us,  I  know,"  Eileen  had  remarked  on  the  first  day 
of  her  life  in  the  Fillmore  street  flat.  "  We  all  go 
our  ways  here  and  the  last  one  out  puts  the  key  in 
the  mailbox." 

Freda  had  accepted  this  code,  but  there  were  times 
when  her  heart  was  lonely  and  troubled.  These  girls 
who  had  taken  her,  with  such  friendly  kindness,  into 
their  home,  and  who  always  included  her  in  their 
plans  for  amusements  together,  what  did  she  know  of 
their  real  lives?  Would  Mother  have  quite  approved 
of  them? 

She  had  been  embarrassed  at  first  when  their  men 
friends  came  to  call  and  were  entertained  in  the  stuffy 
little  living  room  that  was  so  obviously  a  bedroom 
too.  She  had  been  miserably  conscious  of  the  denim- 
curtained  closet,  and  the  toilet  articles  secreted  in  the 
drawer  of  the  card  table.  But  before  the  buoyant  un- 
concern of  the  other  girls,  and  the  callers  themselves, 
her  own  uncomfortable  apprehensions  began  to  wear 
away.  On  the  rare  evenings  when  Eileen  was  not  out 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  169 

with  George  Locke,  or  entertaining  friends  at  the  flat, 
she  invariably  proposed  a  trip  to  the  movies.  An 
uncongenial  visitor  or  a  poor  show  never  dampened 
her  geniality,  but  a  quiet  evening  at  home  plunged  her 
into  abysmal  depression.  "  I  can't  stand  to  be  alone," 
she  told  Freda.  "  I'd  rather  go  anywhere  or  do  any- 
thing than  just  be  alone  and  think!" 

And  although  this  attitude  of  mind  was  incompre- 
hensible to  Freda,  she  never  declined  Eileen's  sugges- 
tion of  a  movie  when,  as  a  last  resort,  she  offered  it. 
Freda's  knowledge  of  the  screen  drama  was  limited  to 
some  half  dozen  experiences  at  the  Jewel  Theater  in 
Four  Corners,  and,  to  the  astonishment  of  her  two 
companions,  she  did  not  thrill  to  the  lure  of  the  film 
favorites. 

"  They  hurt  my  eyes,"  she  explained  to  Eileen  after 
the  second  evening  of  dissipation.  "  I  wish  you  girls 
would  just  go  without  me.  I'd  rather  read,  I  truly 
would." 

"  Well,  you  are  a  puzzle,  kiddo,"  Eileen  responded. 
"  I  thought,  raised  way  off  in  the  wilds  the 
way  you've  been,  you'd  just  want  to  go  all  the 
time." 

"  I  do  love  to  go  places,"  Freda  assured  her.  "  But 
it's  store  windows  and  parks  and  people  that  interest 
me."  Her  real  reason  for  disliking  the  picture  shows 
was  less  easily  explainable  to  Eileen.  It  would  be 
quite  impossible  for  Eileen  to  understand  how  brutal 


iyo          AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

had  been  the  disillusionment  of  the  movie  plays.  It 
was  during  the  era  of  the  modern  renaissance,  when 
the  picture  producers,  during  a  temporary  respite  from 
the  exploitation  of  sex,  had  harked  back  to  the 
classical  novel  and  were  reviving  in  pantomime  some 
of  the  immortal  scenes  of  Thackeray,  Dickens,  and 
Hugo.  To  Freda,  whose  companionship  with  these 
was  far  more  intimate  than  with  any  friend  of  her 
childhood,  the  outrages  committed  by  scenario  writers 
upon  plot  and  character  were  quite  beyond  forgive- 
ness. Situations  at  which  the  authors  had  merely 
hinted,  were  blazoned  forth  with  nauseating  detail. 
The  secret,  half -fearful  thoughts  of  characters  deline- 
ated by  a  master  pen,  were  flashed  upon  the  screen, 
amplified  and  distorted  almost  beyond  recognition. 
The  library  at  Four  Corners,  and  the  guiding  hand  of 
Doris  Hart  well,  stretched  out  to  her  just  at  the  right 
time,  had  done  their  work  well,  and,  pitifully  un- 
sophisticated as  she  was  in  experience,  they  had  pro- 
vided for  her  the  foundation  upon  which  the  super- 
structure of  ideals  was  to  be  builded.  But  when  she 
discovered  Eileen's  abnormal  dependence  upon  diver- 
sion, she  acceded  to  her  invitations  with  a  cordiality 
so  well  feigned  that  the  other  girl  shortly  forgot  her 
former  lack  of  enthusiasm.  And  sometimes  a  refresh- 
ing little  comedy  rewarded  her  loyalty. 

It  was  two  weeks  after  her  tour  down  the  peninsula 
that  she  was  transferred  to  the  manicure  department 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  171 

as  abruptly  as  she  had  been  stationed  at  the  desk.  She 
nerved  herself  to  speak  to  Madame  that  Saturday 
evening,  for  that  was  the  only  occasion  on  which 
the  proprietor's  presence  could  be  assured.  So  she 
lingered  when  the  other  workers  had  gone  and  then, 
feeling  as  though  she  had  come  to  steal  from  her,  she 
approached  the  compartment  where  they  had  held 
their  first  interview. 

Madame  Peltier  was  checking  up  some  figures,  and 
according  to  her  custom,  did  not  look  up  as  the  girl 
entered.  Freda  waited,  feeling  her  courage  ooze  away 
with  every  second.  Finally  a  cool  voice  came  to  her 
above  the  sheet  of  figures,  "  Was  there  something, 
Miss  Bayne?" 

Freda  had  rehearsed  the  opening  sentence  till  it 
came  quite  of  its  own  accord,  and  then  fearing  that 
valor  would  desert  her  in  mid-stream,  words  came 
pell-mell,  coherent  but  breathless.  "  I  don't  want  to 
trquble  you  about  it,"  she  ended  with  a  pitiful  eager- 
ness to  escape  any  hint  of  aggression,  "  but  I  thought 
I'd  just  talk  it  over  with  you  and  see  if  there  was 
any  way — you  see,  no  matter  how  carefully  I  man- 
age  "  She  smiled  at  the  other  woman,  a  deprecat- 
ing little  smile  which  seemed  to  convey  the  assurance 
that  the  fault  was  all  her  own.  "  I  can't  seem  to — 
I  can't  live  on  the  salary  that  I  get  here." 

She  felt  those  polished  eyes  resting  upon  her  now, 
but  she  could  not  meet  their  gaze.  She  was  ter- 


172  AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

rified  lest  her  entreaty  might  be  interpreted  as  an  ac- 
cusation, and  she  groped  desperately  for  words  to 
make  her  meaning  clearer.  But  before  they  came, 
Madame's  voice  fell  upon  her  like  a  clammy 
blanket. 

"  I  shouldn't  imagine  that  you  could." 

She  was  playing  with  a  glittering  chatelaine  that 
fell  almost  to  her  knees.  "You  must  know,  Miss 
Bayne,"  she  went  on  in  her  cool,  emotionless  voice, 
"  you  must  know  that  you  are — not  unattractive ;  that, 
in  fact,  you  are  unusually  good-looking,  especially  so 
since  I  have  taken  an  interest  in  your  appearance. 
And  I  have  given  you  your  chance.  You  were  at  the 
desk  for  more  than  a  month." 

She  seemed  to  consider  the  interview  at  an  end. 
With  the  sheet  of  figures  in  her  hand  she  turned  to 
the  hallway.  Freda  stood  aside  to  let  her  pass.  In 
the  curtained  doorway  her  employer  paused  for  an 
instant.  There  was  a  touch  of  impatience  in  her  tone 
as  she  surveyed  the  white-aproned  figure  of  the 
girl. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  she  asked  her,  "  that  you  have  no 
gentleman  friend  who  can  arrange  these  things  for 


you?" 


IX 


HALF  an  hour  after  her  interview  with  Madame 
Peltier,  Freda  was  walking  alone  along  Van  Ness 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  173 

avenue.  She  was  scarcely  conscious  of  the  direction 
she  took.  She  felt  that  she  must  keep  walking  on  and 
on  alone  until  her  whirling  thoughts  steadied  them- 
selves. 

She  wondered  dully  why  this  woman's  sugges- 
tion had  given  her  any  shock.  Like  the  blow  that 
Nina  had  struck,  after  the  first  stunned  moment 
passed,  everything  seemed  so  self-explanatory,  so 
nakedly  clear.  The  extravagances  of  the  other  girls 
were  plain  as  day  now.  Hers  were,  as  usual,  the  only 
blinded  eyes.  A  sudden  shame  for  her  own  guileless- 
ness  possessed  her.  The  standard  which  she  had 
raised  unconsciously  for  her  own  guidance  appeared 
all  at  once  an  absurdity.  This  Thing,  which  had 
driven  her  from  the  shelter  of  her  own  home  and  into 
the  arms  of  a  city  of  strangers,  why,  it  was  every- 
where. It  was  as  inescapable  as  life  itself.  It  was 
life. 

Avery  had  been  right  after  all.  She  had  taken 
things  too  hard.  She  had  always  taken  them  too  hard, 
and  in  the  end  they  would  break  her  heart.  That 
thing  for  which  she  had  condemned  her  father,  was 
a  thing  that  people  did  all  the  world  over.  What  had 
appeared  to  her  as  hideous  crime,  was  spoken  of  here 
as  casually  as  one  might  mention  a  change  in  the 
weather.  Other  people,  everybody  but  herself,  knew 
about  it  too.  The  nicest  people  knew  it  and  if  cir- 
cumstance made  it  unnecessary  in  their  lives,  at  least 


174          AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

they  condoned  it  in  the  lives  of  others,  less  fortunate. 
It  was  only  in  novels  that  such  practices  were 
anathematized.  That  was  as  it  should  be  of  course. 
People  expected  more  of  literature  than  of  life.  Some 
of  the  grim  morals  of  the  older  novelists  seemed 
archaic  now.  And  modern  stories  teemed  with  char- 
acters who  not  only  broke  the  seventh  commandment 
and  were  forgiven,  because  of  an  act  of  heroism, 
which  somehow  redeemed  the  past,  or  a  spectacular 
"confession,"  which  wrung  the  hearts  of  their  ac- 
cusers, but  led  highly  interesting  and  vivid  lives. 
Where  did  she  alone  get  her  narrow-minded  preju- 
dices, and  what  would  they  ever  do  for  her  but  slam 
the  gates  to  the  glittering,  and  not  wholly  evil,  fields 
of  pleasure? 

She  had  been  walking  fast  and  suddenly  found  her- 
self very  tired  and  out  of  breath.  Across  the  street 
was  a  large  house  set  back  from  the  sidewalk,  and  its 
unlighted  windows  proclaimed  it  vacant.  Freda  stole 
up  its  broad  inviting  steps  and  sank  down  under  the 
shelter  of  the  projecting  eaves.  With  wistful  eyes 
she  watched  the  procession  of  passing  automobiles 
and  street  cars.  They  were  all  going  somewhere, 
those  people,  to  find  enjoyment.  Everybody  in  this 
light-hearted,  pleasure-loving  city  was  an  expert 
angler  in  the  swiftly  moving  stream  of  happiness. 
But  it  cost  something ;  there  was  a  tax  on  each  golden 
hour,  and  with  one  coin  or  another  one  must  be  will- 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  175 

ing  to  pay.  Her  own  capital,  what  Madame  Peltier 
had  called  her  "  extreme  good  looks,"  how  much 
would  this  buy,  and  for  how  long? 

She  was  aroused  suddenly  by  the  sound  of  voices, 
many  voices.  They  seemed  to  come  from  within  the 
unlighted  house.  She  rose  cautiously,  stole  across  the 
porch,  and  peered  in  at  one  of  the  handsome  front 
windows.  The  room  seemed  to  be  full  of  people. 
And  that  they  were  young  people  she  could  tell  now 
by  their  voices. 

Then,  all  at  once,  while  she  stood  there,  trying  to 
get  a  clearer  sight  of  the  room  within,  the  scene  flashed 
into  brilliant  life.  She  recoiled  as  though  the  lights 
had  struck  her  full  in  the  face.  As  noiselessly  as  she 
had  come,  she  started  back  across  the  porch.  But  half- 
way to  the  steps  she  stopped.  The  realization  had 
come  to  her  that  the  blazing  chandeliers,  which  had 
quickened  that  shadowy  room  into  life,  had  in  that 
same  moment  made  her  own  presence,  as  uninvited 
spectator,  safer  than  before.  Drawn  irresistibly  by 
the  gay  laughter,  by  her  nearness  to  this  thing  for 
which  her  eager  heart  was  starving,  she  crept  back 
to  the  alluring  window  again. 

The  scene  within  held  her  enthralled.  The  hand- 
some drawing  room  seemed  to  have  been  converted 
into  an  impromptu  theater,  with  a  raised  platform  at 
one  end.  Flitting  up  and  down  its  shallow  steps,  men 
and  girls,  in  the  costumes  of  the  ancient  Orient,  made 


176          AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

hilarious  comments  upon  their  own  histrionic  abilities 
and  each  other's  make-ups. 

"  Why  did  you  turn  on  the  lights  ?  "  a  masculine 
voice  from  behind  the  scenes  protested.  "  I  wasn't 
ready  yet." 

"  We  wanted  to  try  the  effect/'  a  tall  woman  in  a 
flowing  white  tunic  explained.  "  Come  out  and  see 
how  you  think  the  stage  looks." 

"  I  don't  care  how  it  looks.  It's  the  costumes  that 
worry  me.  I  wish  some  of  you  people  had  gone  in 
less  for  becoming  effects  and  more  for  realism.  I 
wanted " 

"  Don't  worry  about  all  that  highbrow  stuff,"  a 
young  man  with  corn-colored  curls  advised  jovially. 
"  Half  the  people  who  come  to  this  benefit  won't  be 
bothered  about  historical  atmosphere.  Anyhow,  this 
isn't  supposed  to  be  real  Biblical  drama,  only  a  trav- 
esty. The  more  incongruous  a  burlesque  is,  the  better 
hit." 

"Well,  switch — off — those — lights,"  the  voice  of 
invisible  authority  commanded.  "  And  you  people 
who  haven't  anything  to  do  in  this  act,  please  get  out 
of  the  room.  You  distract  the  actors.  And  this  is 
a  dress  rehearsal,  folks.  You  ought  to  be  used  to  each 
other's  wigs  by  now,  and  willing  to  settle  down  to 
business." 

With  his  last  words,  the  scene  vanished,  like  the 
palace  of  Circe  under  the  potent  magic  of  Ulysses. 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  177 

Freda  felt  as  though  the  gate  to  the  kingdom  of  hap- 
piness had  been  ruthlessly  slammed  in  her  face.  A 
fog  had  rolled  in  from  the  bay  now,  and  the  October 
night  was  cold,  but  she  drew  her  coat  closer  about  her 
and  resolved  to  wait  for  the  first  act.  She  was  pre- 
pared for  an  interval  of  monotonous  scene-shifting, 
for  some  fascinating  moments  as  audience,  for  almost 
anything  except  what  actually  happened. 

Around  the  corner  of  the  house,  footsteps  ap- 
proached. Some  of  the  actors,  obeying  the  injunction 
of  their  director,  had  evidently  gone  out  through  a 
side  door  to  try  a  breath  of  the  revivifying  ocean  air. 
They  were  almost  at  the  front  steps  before  Freda 
heard  them.  The  sound  of  their  near  approach 
startled  and  terrified  her.  With  as  guilty  a  feeling 
as  though  she  had  come  to  rob  the  unlighted  house, 
she  turned  and  made  a  desperate  break  for  es- 
cape. 

It  was  too  late.  She  came  face  to  face  with  a  couple 
on  the  front  walk.  Conscious  that  her  face  was 
flaming  in  the  darkness,  she  murmured  incoherent 
words  of  apology.  "  I  must  have  made  a  mistake.  I 
was  looking  for  an  address — I  couldn't  see  the  num- 
ber  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  you've  made  a  mistake,"  the 
man's  voice  reassured  her.  "  This  is  the  Mansfield 
residence.  Did  you  come  from  Silverstein's  ?  " 

Before  Freda  had  time  to  reply,  his  companion  gave 


1 78          AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

a  little  cry  of  surprise.     "Why,  it's  the  little  hair 
girl!" 

The  voice  was  familiar,  and  Freda,  looking  at  her 
for  the  first  time,  recognized  the  indolent,  good- 
natured  eyes  of  Edna  North. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  slipping  her  hand  from  the 
arm  of  the  man  with  the  corn-colored  curls,  "  you 
have  a  perfect  genius  for  turning  up  at  the  dramatic 
moment.  I  don't  care  where  you're  going.  You've 
got  to  come  in  here  for  a  few  minutes  and  help  us." 

She  started  toward  the  steps.  "  You  can  stay  out 
and  smoke,  Jack,"  she  called  back  to  her  companion. 
"I'll  call  you  in  time!" 

Freda  followed  her  through  a  spacious  front  hall, 
where  groups  of  gorgeously  dressed  young  people 
lolled  on  divans  and  staircase,  and  back  to  a  bed- 
chamber near  the  dining  room  which  was  evidently 
used  as  an  extra  guest  room. 

Here  they  found  girls  in  various  stages  of  neglige, 
fastening  each  other's  lingerie,  dabbing  at  each  other's 
faces  with  theatrical  cream,  and  making  frenzied 
alterations  in  their  costumes. 

Edna  paused  for  an  instant,  viewing  the  chaos  with 
the  triumphant  smile  of  one  who  possesses  the  magic 
which  will  restore  it  to  order  and  sanity.  She  was 
gowned  in  the  costume  of  a  Persian  princess,  with  an 
exquisite  veil  embroidered  in  peacocks,  and  a  chain 
of  gold  coins  encircling  her  forehead.  A  girl  who 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  179 

was  sitting  before  the  mirror,  doing  futile  things  to 
her  hair,  turned  with  an  exclamation  of  relief. 

"Oh,  is  that  the  costumer  with  the  wigs,  Edna? 
I  had  given  up  Silverstein's." 

"  You  might  as  well,  I  think/*  Edna  told  her,  with 
her  habitual  serenity  in  the  face  of  another's  disaster. 
"  They  wouldn't  be  delivering  this  late."  She  seemed 
to  possess  a  sort  of  unconscious  genius  for  dramatic 
suspense. 

"  But,  girls,  I've  found  a  mascot,"  she  announced. 
"  I've  found  somebody  who  can  not  only  make  a 
switch  look  like  it  grew  on  you,  but  can  make  your 
own  hair  look  almost  as  natural  as  a  wig." 

Freda,  blushing  under  this  superlative  introduction, 
found  herself  surrounded  at  once  by  a  clamorous 
throng  of  prospective  stars.  For  the  next  half  hour 
she  worked,  turning  out  Persian  nobility,  dancing 
girls,  Cleopatras,  and  water-bearers.  She  was  as  happy 
and  excited  as  the  players  themselves.  When  the  last 
court  lady  emerged  from  her  skilful  hands,  she  ven- 
tured a  bold  suggestion. 

"  May  I  go  in  and  watch  for  awhile  ?  It  would  be 
so  much  fun  to  see  how  you  look  on  the  stage." 

"  Well,  I  should  say  so.  Come  along  and  I'll  show 
you  a  place  where  you  can  get  the  best  view  of  the 
stage." 

Edna  led  the  way  to  a  small  music  alcove  adjoining 
the  drawing  room.  It  was  raised  a  few  steps  from 


i8o          AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

the  floor  level  and  afforded  an  excellent  vantage  point 
from  which  to  watch  the  actors. 

Freda  felt  as  though  she  had  been  suddenly  trans- 
ported to  another  world,  the  world  of  joy  and 
laughter,  which  only  a  brief  half  hour  ago  had 
seemed  as  inaccessible  as  ancient  Babylon  itself. 
Other  spectators  came  to  the  music  room  from  time 
to  time,  but  she  was  undisturbed  and  sat  there,  en- 
tranced, watching  the  progress  of  the  first  act.  The 
dignified  setting  and  the  grandiose  lines,  interspersed 
so  unexpectedly  with  modern  slang  and  ultra-modern 
love  scenes,  were  irresistible.  She  found  herself 
wiping  her  eyes  at  the  end  of  the  second  scene  and 
drawing  little  gasps  of  eager  appreciation. 

"  Very  good,"  a  voice  from  the  wings  approved. 
"  Now  I  want  you  to  go  through  the  second  act  with- 
out any  prompting.  I'm  going  to  be  audience." 

Hurrying  footsteps  scuttled  out  of  view  of  the 
stage,  and  spectators  settled  into  seats  along  the  walls. 
Several  of  them  strayed  into  the  music  room,  but  she 
had  no  eyes  for  anything  but  the  stage. 

A  group  of  courtiers  took  "  center,"  lounging  with 
realistic  indolence,  upon  the  gorgeous  divans  of  the 
royal  dining  salon. 

"  This  is  the  best  act  of  all,  and  we've  got  the  poor- 
est equipment  for  it,"  a  voice  behind  Freda  com- 
plained. "  Silverstein  had  almost  nothing  suitable, 
and  we  just  had  to  make  the  best  of  his  stock." 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  181 

"  Nobody'll  ever  know  the  difference,"  some  one 
assured  him.  "  You  make  such  a  point  of  all  those 
little  things." 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  it  to  be  merely  a  financial  suc- 
cess, you  see.  I  care  much  more  about  the  art  of  it, 
.1  » 

"  Oh,  art !  I'm  sick  of  that  word.  I'm  going 
out  and  see  how  I  look  in  my  Gold  of  Ophir 
robe." 

There  was  a  sound  of  retreating  footsteps,  and  then 
a  long  sigh.  "  It's  not  right  though,"  the  man  mut- 
tered. "  That  equipment — somehow  it  doesn't  get 
by." 

"  I  think  it's  the  weapons  that  are  wrong." 

Freda  had  turned  to  him  with  an  eager  impulse  to 
help,  and  the  words  were  out  before  she  recognized 
the  deep-set,  intent  eyes  of  The  Old  Young  Man.  For 
a  moment  she  was  confused,  then  certain  that  he  had 
not  remembered  her,  she  hurried  on.  "  I  happened 
to  find  a  book  in  the  library  the  other  day  while  I  was 
looking  for  something  else.  It  was  on  the  evolution 
of  war  arms,  and  showed  sets  of  plates.  I  didn't 
think  it  would  be  at  all  interesting,  but  it  was.  I 
spent  the  whole  evening  looking  at  it.  Those  swords," 
she  nodded  in  the  direction  of  the  stage,  "are  too 
modern.  They  belong  to  the  Renaissance  period ;  and 
that  short,  dagger-looking  one  originated,  I  think,  at 
the  time  of  the  Lombard  League." 


182  AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

He  looked  at  her  with  the  expression  that  might 
have  lighted  the  eyes  of  Newton  when  he  picked  up 
the  apple  that  was  to  revolutionize  science.  "  Miss 
Cinderella ! "  he  said  slowly.  "  Now  I  know  that  I 
am  not  mistaken." 

He  brought  his  chair  forward  and  set  it  next  to 
hers.  "  Did  you  see  the  first  act?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  did  you  think  of  it?  " 

"  Oh,  delicious !  "  She  plunged  into  enthusiastic 
praise  of  it,  and  he  listened,  keeping  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  distant  stage. 

"  Artistic  ?  "  he  repeated  eagerly.  "  Do  you  really 
think  it  measures  up  to  that?  Burlesque,  you  know 
— nonsense,  and  merely " 

"  That's  just  it,"  she  told  him  earnestly.  "  That's 
just  why  I  think  it's — wonderful.  It  seems  to  me  that 
it's  easier  for  a  serious  play  to  be  artistic.  Suffering, 
temptation,  death,  all  those  things  always  have  a  dig- 
nity of  their  own.  They  help  the  author  though  he 
may  not  realize  it,  by  just  being — what  they  are. 
But  comedy — I  can't  explain  just  what  I  mean,  but 
although  it  isn't  ranked  so  high  as  the  other,  don't 
you  think  people  are  more  critical  of  a  writer  who  is 
trying  to  make  them  laugh  ?  " 

The  second  act  drew  to  its  climax,  but  Norman 
Brewster  gave  it  only  intermittent  attention.  When 
a  defect  in  the  lighting  called  him  abruptly  back  of 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  183 

the  stage,  he  excused  himself  with  irritated  re- 
luctance. 

"  I'll  be  right  back.    It  won't  take  me  a  minute." 

But  it  took  him  many  minutes,  and  he  did  not  re- 
turn until  the  act  was  over,  and  the  players  were  wan- 
dering off  in  the  direction  of  the  dining  room.  "  I 
had  to  do  a  lot  of  carpentry  work  back  there,"  he 
explained.  "How  did  you  like  the  ending?" 

They  sat  there,  deep  in  discussion,  until  a  Persian 
anarchist,  with  a  scimiter  in  his  hand,  appeared  on  the 
threshold  of  the  music  room.  "  Eats  are  now  being 
served  in  the  rear,"  he  announced  in  the  voice  of  a 
dining  car  waiter.  "  Better  stray  in.  It's  a  general 
grab.  None  of  the  servants  are  home." 

"  All  right,  Mansfield.  Thanks."  The  Old  Young 
Man  turned  to  Freda.  "  Come  on  out  Let's  forage 
while  the  pasture  is  good." 

"  Oh,  no,  thank  you,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "  I  must 
be  going.  It's — getting  late." 

"  Going  ?  Why,  you  can't.  You've  got  to  stay  to 
see  the  last  act.  I'll  bring  us  something  to  eat  in 
here." 

She  began  a  quick  protest,  but  he  was  already  strid- 
ing off  in  the  direction  of  the  dining  room.  When  he 
returned,  a  momont  later,  with  two  cups  of  coffee  and 
some  French  pastry,  he  found  her  deep  in  the  pages 
of  the  last  act.  "  I  really  can't  stay  to  see  it,"  she  ex- 
plained, "but  I  had  to  know  how  it  ended," 


1 84          AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

He  drew  the  piano  bench  toward  him  with  one 
foot  and  set  the  tray  upon  it.  "  I'm  not  just  satisfied 
with  that  act/1  he  confided.  "  It  needs  an  extra 
punch  just  before  the  last  scene." 

Freda  stirred  her  coffee  absently.  "  I  was  wonder- 
ing  "  she  began  slowly.  "  It  might  not  be  possible 

to  manage,  but  I  was  wondering  if  it  wouldn't  add  to 
the  suspense,  if  the  audience  didn't  know  until  almost 
the  end  that  Belshazzar  had  ordered  the  writing  on 
the  wall  himself." 

"  Bully ! "  he  cried,  seizing  the  manuscript  from 
her  lap.  He  repeated  the  word  over  to  himself  in  a 
whisper  while  he  made  fantastic  notes  upon  the  mar- 
gin. "  Drink  your  coffee  while  it's  hot,  but  I  can't 
stop  to  eat  just  now." 

He  wrote  on,  forgetful  of  her  presence.  When  he 
had  finished,  he  slapped  the  pages  together  and  drank 
his  coffee  at  a  gulp.  "  That's  a  great  suggestion,"  he 
said,  and  transferred  to  her  plate  an  apricot  tart 
smothered  under  an  avalanche  of  whipped  cream. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  tell  me  who  you  are  tonight, 
Miss  Cinderella  ?  "  he  begged. 

The  light  died  out  of  her  eyes,  and,  quick  to  note 
their  change,  he  said  at  once,  "  It  doesn't  matter.  The 
point  is  that  you  have  given  me  the  criticism  I  needed, 
and  the  idea  for  which  I've  been  groping  for  weeks." 

He  swept  the  throng  of  performers  with  cynical 
eyes.  "  Most  of  these  people  didn't  remember  that 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  185 

there  had  ever  been  such  a  place  as  ancient  Babylon," 
he  told  her,  "  and  I'm  sure  some  of  them  had  a  hazy 
impression  that  Belshazzar  was  a  suburb  of  Los 
Angeles.  You  can't  imagine  how  stimulating  you  are." 

"  Hurry  up  there,  Brewster,"  a  voice  called  from 
the  drawing  room.  "  We  want  to  get  this  last  act 
over  so  we  can  dance." 

He  pushed  the  piano  bench  aside  and  gathered  up 
the  manuscript.  "  I'll  have  to  go  behind  to  get  it 
started,  but  I'll  be  back  right  away,"  he  promised. 

When  he  had  gone,  Freda  moved  her  chair  back  to 
try  a  new  angle  of  the  stage.  She  was  torn  between 
her  eager  desire  to  stay,  and  the  knowledge  that  it 
would  be  very  late  when  she  started  home  unescorted. 
"Just  for  the  opening  scene,"  she  reassured  herself. 
"  I'll  go  right  after  that." 

The  room  was  in  darkness  now  and  from  her  place 
by  the  hall-door  the  sound  of  voices  came  to  her, 
close  at  hand.  "  From  one  of  those  downtown  hair- 
shops.  Edna  picked  her  up  somewhere  and  brought 
her  in  to  help  the  girls  in  the  dressing  room." 

"  Well,  she  is  an  accommodating  little  thing,  isn't 
she?  And  a  charmer.  You  would  have  been  jealous 
if  you  had  seen  Norman  with  her  just  now  in  the 
music  room.  She  had  him  roped  and  tied." 

"My  dear,  if  I  paid  any  attention  to  all  of  Norman's 
casual  acquaintances,  I'd  be  in  a  constant  state  of  re- 
volt. He'd  pick  up  with  anybody  who  he  thought 


186          AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

was  an  oddity.  And  then,  you  know,  he  probably 
couldn't  get  away  from  her.  A  girl  of  that  class — 
preordained  man-hunters,  you  know." 

The  voices  died  away  in  the  distance.  Freda  sat 
as  motionless  as  though  she  were  frozen  to  her  chair. 
The  joyousness  of  the  scene,  the  comradeship  of  these 
people,  which  a  moment  ago  had  seemed,  in  spite  of 
the  social  gulf  between  them,  to  reach  out  a  hand  to 
her  in  the  name  of  youth  and  draw  her  under  its 
friendly  mantle,  had  undergone  a  swift  transforma- 
tion. She  saw  hostility  in  their  eyes  now,  and  what 
was  infinitely  more  cruel,  amused  patronage. 

As  she  stole  out  into  the  semi-darkness  of  the  hall, 
Edna  North  hurried  toward  her  from  the  dining 
room.  "  Oh,  you're  going,  Good  Samaritan  ?  "  she 

cried.  "  Why,  I  haven't "  She  was  fumbling  in 

the  depths  of  a  silver  mesh-bag. 

"  Please  don't,"  Freda  entreated  her  in  an  unsteady 
little  voice.  "  It  was — it  was  just  fun  for  me.  I've 
enjoyed  it  so  much.  Good-night." 

She  hurried  down  the  hall  and  out  on  the  porch, 
only  pausing  when  she  reached  the  foot  of  the  steps, 
to  fasten  her  coat,  which  seemed  all  at  once  an  inade- 
quate protection  against  the  penetrating  fog. 

Inside,  Edna  North  threw  the  silver  mesh-bag  upon 
a  divan  with  a  rueful  little  laugh.  "  I  got  the  turn- 
down of  my  life  just  now,"  she  said  to  Norman 
Brewster.  "  I  offered  to  pay  that  little  hair  girl  for 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  187 

helping  us  in  the  dressing  room,  and  she  waved  me 
aside  with  the  hauteur  of  a  queen.'* 

"  Has  she  gone  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  Gone  ?  I  should  say  so ;  in  a  coach  and  six,  I 
think." 

As  Freda  turned  out  on  the  pavement,  a  command- 
ing hand  was  laid  upon  her  arm.  "  Why  are  you 
running  away  like  this  ?  "  a  stern  voice  demanded.  "  I 
told  you  to  wait." 

"  And  I  told  you  that  I  couldn't  wait,"  she  answered 
in  an  icy  little  voice. 

"Why  not?" 

She  did  not  reply,  but  started  on  her  way.  He  fell 
into  step  beside  her. 

"  I  want  you  to  come  to  the  performance,"  he  said, 
his  tone  entreating  now.  "  I  want  you  very  much 
to  come  and  see  how  you  like  it  with  the  alteration  you 
suggested.  Please  give  me  your  address  and  let  me 
send  you  softie  tickets." 

"  A  preordained  man-hunter."  The  words  seemed 
to  be  pounding  against  her  brain.  "  I  can't  come," 
she  answered  coldly.  "  It  will  be  quite  impossible." 

"  Won't  you  let  me  send  you  home  in  my  car 
then?  You  shouldn't  be  out  this  late  alone.  I  can't 
allow  you  to  go  alone." 

"  I  think  you  can,"  she  told  him.  "  I  very  much 
prefer  to  go  alone.  Good-night." 

"Who  is  she?"  Norman  Brewster  demanded  of 


i88          AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

Constance  when,  a  few  moments  later,  he  encoun- 
tered her  in  the  music  room.    "  Who  is  that  little  girl 

with  the  gray  eyes  who " 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea,"  she  answered. 

In  the  society  columns  of  the  papers  Freda  read 
the  story  of  the  brilliant  event  at  the  Mansfield  resi- 
dence, where  the  younger  members  of  the  smart  set 
staged  a  comedy  skit  which  netted  almost  a  thousand 
dollars  for  the  associated  charities.  The  performance 
was  described  as  "  sparkling  with  clever  lines,"  and 
the  actors,  "  taking  their  parts  with  all  the  delightful 
exuberance  and  spontaneity  of  youth." 

Freda  had  just  passed  her  nineteenth  birthday,  but, 
recalling  the  gay  rehearsal  at  the  Mansfield  home,  she 
asked  herself  now  if  she  had  ever  really  been  young. 

A  month  later  she  became  a  full-fledged  assistant  at 
the  hair-shop,  and  was  put  in  charge  of  the  hair- 
dressing  department,  with  a  substantial  increase  in 
salary.  But  this  promotion  failed  to  bring  the  satis- 
faction which  she  had  so  confidently  expected.  Now 
that  she  had  achieved  the  "  definite  profession  "  which 
had  been  the  goal  of  her  desire,  which  was  to  have 
brought  independence  and  a  circle  of  friends  who 
would  provide  her  with  the  "  education "  which 
Madame  Peltier  had  promised,  she  discovered  that  the 
future  which  her  position  assured  was  meager  and 
soul-starving.  She  had  long  ago  begun  to  realize  that 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  189 

"  social  leaders "  do  not  become  friendly  with  the 
girls  who  dress  their  hair,  and  her  experiences  with 
the  Norths  made  this  conviction  bitterly  obvious. 
Days,  months,  years  she  might  give  to  the  beauty  par- 
lor, and  they  would  afford  her  not  one  stepping  stone 
to  that  social  and  intellectual  world  for  which  her 
heart  and  brain  hungered. 

The  slangy,  superficial  talk  which  made  up  all  the 
conversation  of  her  associates,  the  incessant  tyranny 
of  the  mirror,  the  suave  invitations  to  dinner  from  the 
men  patrons  of  the  establishment,  which  must  be  so 
tactfully  declined,  if  declined  at  all,  so  artfully  cir- 
cumvented, these  things,  which  made  up  all  her  days, 
had  come  to  be  nauseating.  Why  had  she  ever  taken 
such  a  position?  she  asked  herself,  as  she  lay  staring 
into  the  darkness  of  the  little  living  room  at  the  flat, 
when  sleep  would  not  come.  Why  couldn't  she  have 
foreseen  its  limitations? 

But  beggars  couldn't  be  choosers,  and  the  stern 
sense  of  justice  which  was  one  of  her  dominant  traits 
of  character  forced  her  to  admit  that  a  profession 
which  had  required  so  little  in  the  way  of  prerequisites 
could  not  be  expected  to  yield  bounteous  returns. 

The  enthusiasm  with  which  she  had  begun  her  ap- 
prenticeship had  long  ago  burned  out.  That  she  per- 
formed her  tasks  so  well,  so  cheerfully,  and  with  such 
an  infinite  patience  deceived  every  one,  sometimes  even 
herself.  Nobody  guessed  that  she  had  come  to  hate 


190          AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

it  all,  and  fastidious  patrons  arranged  their  appoint- 
ments to  suit  her  time.  Nobody  should  ever  guess  it, 
she  resolved.  Pride,  as  much  as  a  strict  sense  of  duty, 
upheld  her  in  this  determination. 

In  all  the  months  that  she  had  been  away,  there  had 
only  been  two  letters  from  the  family  at  Rocky  Cove. 
These  were  from  Avery,  and  were  filled  chiefly  with 
a  report  of  the  crop  failure,  the  increasing  complexity 
of  labor  problems,  and  other  ranch  troubles.  Aurelia 
had  not  yet  obtained  her  divorce,  and  now  that  Freda 
was  gone,  little  was  ever  said  about  it.  After  reading 
the  second  of  these  letters,  Freda  abandoned  hope  of 
her  father's  marriage  and  set  her  face  even  more 
stonily  away  from  the  past. 

But  there  was  compensation  in  the  dreary  routine 
of  the  weeks.  And  that  compensation  was  the  Sunday 
afternoon  drives  with  Martin  Meggs.  She  had  come 
to  look  forward  to  them  as  the  one  bright  spot  in  the 
monotony  of  her  life.  And  recalling  these  pleasures, 
her  resentment  toward  the  hair  store  softened.  "  I 
never  would  have  met  him  if  I  hadn't  first  met  Miss 
Judson  under  the  blue  ray  treatment,"  she  was  wont 
to  remind  herself,  when  the  days  lagged  unbearably. 

It  was  the  following  January  that  Madame  Peltier 
asked  her  to  make  a  delivery  one  evening  after  closing 
hour.  It  was  in  the  uptown  residence  district,  and  she 
decided  to  walk  home  and  take  her  dinner  in  one  of 
the  modest  restaurants  where  she  could  summon 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON  191 

Eileen  and  Glenn  to  join  her.  It  would  be  a  pleasant 
little  change,  and  she  had  never  outgrown  the  feeling 
that  to  dine  away  from  home  was  a  festivity  in 
itself. 

It  was  nearly  seven  when  she  left  the  house  on 
California  street.  The  evening  was  clear  and  cold  and 
there  was  wine  in  every  breath  of  the  crisp  air.  As 
she  turned  a  corner  where  a  large  apartment  house 
was  in  process  of  construction,  she  almost  collided 
with  a  man  who  was  walking  along  the  intersecting 
street.  His  steps  were  uncertain,  and  he  seemed  to  be 
unaware  of  the  direction  that  he  took.  At  sight  of 
Freda,  he  stopped  abruptly  and  tried  to  steady  himself 
against  a  lamp  post.  He  wore  a  long  overcoat,  but 
was  without  a  hat,  and  he  looked  up  and  down  the 
street  with  a  stealthy,  furtive  air. 

Freda  stared  at  him  in  incredulous  astonishment. 
It  was  The  Old  Young  Man.  But  there  was  no  light 
of  recognition  in  his  eyes  as  he  stood  supporting  him- 
self by  the  lamp  post.  Her  first  impression  was  that 
he  was  intoxicated,  and  she  shrank  back  out  of  the 
path  of  his  swaying  steps.  But  intoxication  was  more 
familiar  to  her  than  all  the  dissipations  of  men.  Her 
earliest  memories  of  the  men  at  the  Landing  House 
were  of  seeing  them  assisted  home  by  riotous  com- 
panions, of  watching  them  from  the  living  room  win- 
dow, as  they  swayed  hilariously  or  sullenly  along  the 
wind-swept  road.  Her  second  glance  at  Norman 


192          AN  ADVENTURE  IN  BABYLON 

Brewster  convinced  her  that  he  was  not  drunk.  He 
must  have  been  drugged. 

She  felt  no  desire  to  avoid  him,  no  instinct  to  cry 
for  help,  only  a  bewildered  pity,  and  an  impulse  to 
protect  him. 

With  the  hand  that  was  not  clutching  the  post,  he 
felt  in  his  pocket  and  drew  out  a  roll  of  bank  notes. 
He  tried  to  count  them  as  they  trembled  in  his  hands 
like  aspen  leaves.  Then  lifting  his  eyes  hopelessly  to 
her  face,  he  held  them  toward  her. 

"You're  a  nice  girl,  aren't  you?"  he  asked 
anxiously.  "You'll  help  a  fellow — to  get  away?" 

He  thrust  the  money  into  her  hands  with  nervous 
haste,  glancing  stealthily  over  his  shoulder.  "You'll 
help  me,  won't  you?"  he  implored  in  a  strained, 
anxious  whisper.  "You'll  come  and  help  me  buy  a 
ticket— a  ticket  to  Honolulu?  " 


PART   FIVE:   IN    HIGH   GEAR 


X 

"YOU'LL  help  me  buy  a  ticket  to  Honolulu?" 

Norman  Brewster's  tense,  strained  face  and  the  un- 
expectedness of  his  request,  stirred  Freda  to  an  im- 
pulsive pity  that  submerged  every  other  emotion. 
"  Yes,  of  course  I'll  help  you,"  she  promised,  in  the 
soothing  voice  that  she  would  have  used  in  comfort- 
ing a  lost  child.  She  took  the  roll  of  bills  and  stuffed 
them  into  her  imitation  leather  bag. 

When  he  had  seen  her  snap  it  shut,  he  drew  a  sigh 
of  infinite  relief,  and  ran  his  fingers  nervously 
through  his  thick,  iron-gray  hair.  "  Shall  we  go  down 
now  ?  "  he  suggested.  "  Shall  we  go  down  and " 

Freda  was  looking  up  and  down  the  quiet  street. 
"  Yes,"  she  promised.  "  But  we'll  have  to  wait  here 
for  a  car." 

She  was  more  and  more  convinced  now  that  he  had 
been  drugged.  Her  questions  concerning  his  address 
proved  unavailing.  There  was  only  one  recourse  that 
presented  itself  to  her  mind.  She  would  take  him  to 
the  emergency  hospital.  There  would  be  nothing  sen- 
sational about  that,  and  as  soon  as  the  effects  of  the 
drug  wore  off,  he  would  be  able  to  go  home  him- 
self. 

195 


196  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

She  allowed  two  or  three  automobiles  to  pass  be- 
cause they  contained  lady  passengers.  Then  stepping 
out  into  the  street,  she  boldly  hailed  a  shabby  looking 
car  whose  only  occupant  was  the  driver.  At  her  few 
murmured  words  of  explanation  the  man  was  all  eager 
sympathy.  Freda  had  never  ceased  to  be  surprised  at 
the  apparent  impossibility  of  surprising  anybody  in 
this  friendly,  resourceful  city.  The  stranger  backed 
his  machine  to  the  curb  and  jumped  out.  But  Norman 
Brewster  turned  to  Freda  in  helpless  dismay.  "  You'd 
better  get  in  first,"  the  driver  advised  her.  "  Then 
he'll  be  willin'  to  go  along  quiet."  He  was  evidently 
under  the  impression  that  the  patient  was  insane. 

Freda  obeyed,  and  Norman  Brewster  followed  her 
without  further  protest.  A  few  moments  later  they 
drew  up  in  front  of  the  emergency  hospital,  and  the 
stranger  helped  them  both  to  alight.  "  No  thanks  to 
it,"  he  told  Freda  cordially.  "  Glad  to  help  you. 
Hope  he'll  come  out  of  it  all  right." 

She  took  the  patient's  arm  and  led  him  into  the 
entrance  hall.  But  while  she  was  reporting  her  meager 
knowledge  of  the  case  to  the  registrar,  he  fell  back- 
ward in  his  chair,  his  face  white. 

"  He's  only  fainted,"  the  girl  explained  calmly,  and 
rang  a  bell  at  the  side  of  the  desk.  When  Freda  had 
seen  him  disappear  in  charge  of  two  competent  look- 
ing nurses,  she  drew  a  sigh  of  relief  and  hurried  back 
to  the  street. 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  197 

It  was  quite  dark  now  and  she  walked  quickly,  de- 
ciding not  to  go  downtown  for  dinner,  as  the  girls 
would  probably  be  wondering  about  her.  But  when 
she  let  herself  into  the  tiny  hall,  she  found  a  note 
propped  upon  the  table.  She  read  it  while  she  un- 
pinned her  hat. 

DEAR  F— 

We  waited  for  you  as  long  as  we  could.  We're  having 
dinner  downtown  with  George  Locke  and  one  of  his  friends. 
The  rest  of  the  Hamburg  steak  and  lemon  jelly  are  in  the 
cooler.  We  won't  be  home  till  late.  GLENN. 

Freda  smiled  as  she  crumpled  this  characteristic 
message  in  her  hand.  Nobody  was  "  home  until  late," 
who  expected  to  get  any  fun  out  of  life.  But  these 
girls,  who  had  taken  her  so  unquestioningly  into  their 
lives,  had  grown  very  dear  to  her.  No  matter  what 
the  other  white-aproned  girls  at  Madame  Peltier's 
might  be,  she  was  sure  of  Glenn  and  'Eileen ;  sure  that 
they  were  "  dear  "  and  good. 

But  as  she  took  the  cold  Hamburg  balls  and  the 
leathery  jelly  out  of  the  cooler,  she  decided  to  say 
nothing  to  them  about  the  evening's  adventure.  For 
some  reason,  which  she  could  not  explain  to  her- 
self, she  shrank  from  being  joked  about  Norman 
Brewster. 

It  was  not  until  she  was  undressing  for  bed,  that 
the  sight  of  the  imitation  leather  bag,  lying  on  the 
couch,  like  a  gorged  boa-constrictor,  recalled  to  her 


i98  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

mind,  with  a  start,  the  roll  of  bank  notes.  She  opened 
the  purse  with  fingers  that  were  a  little  unsteady.  In 
her  anxiety  for  the  sick  man,  she  had  never  given  them 
another  thought  after  having  stored  them  away.  She 
counted  them  over  rapidly.  They  totaled  more  than 
three  hundred  dollars. 

"  I'll  have  to  get  up  early,"  she  sighed,  "  and  take 
them  out  to  the  hospital  before  eight.  Of  course  I'll 
want  to  know  how  he  is  anyway." 

But  when,  the  next  morning,  she  appeared  at  the 
registrar's  desk,  she  was  told  that  the  patient  had  left. 
"  He  came  to  about  half  an  hour  after  you'd  gone," 
the  girl  told  her,  "  and  the  doctor  said  there  was  no 
reason  why  he  should  stay.  He'd  had  a  blow  on  the 
head  and  was  just  stunned.  Nothing  serious." 

"  But — did  he  give  you  his  address?  " 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

At  noon  Freda  consulted  a  directory,  but  Norman 
Brewster's  name  was  not  included  in  its  pages.  Then, 
in  desperation,  she  called  the  North  residence  on  the 
'phone.  A  child's  high-pitched  voice  came  to  her  over 
the  wire.  "  No,  ma'am,  the'  Norths  don't  live  here 
any  more.  They've  moved  away.  We  live  here 


now." 


A  trip  to  the  Mansfield  mansion  was  rewarded  by 
drawn  blinds  and  complete  lack  of  response  to  the 
doorbell.  During  that  day  and  the  next,  the  problem 
of  "  Brewster's  Hundreds,"  as  Freda  dubbed  the 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  199 

bank  notes,  weighed  upon  her  with  leaden  heaviness. 
The  police  occurred  to  her  as  a  possible  solution  to 
the  problem,  but,  like  many  country-bred  people,  she 
had  a  horror  of  it.  The  police  pilfered  from  you  your 
name  and  then  blazoned  it  forth  to  a  ravenous  public. 
No,  whatever  happened,  she  would  keep  Norman 
Brewster's  name  and  her  own  out  of  print.  She  must 
bank  the  money  until  such  time  as  it  could  be  returned. 

The  next  day,  just  at  closing  time,  a  familiar  car 
drew  up  in  front  of  the  hair  store  and  Martin  Meggs, 
looking  more  like  a  professional  driver  than  ever  in 
heavy-rimmed  goggles,  leaned  toward  her  over  the 
machine.  "  I  went  by  the  '  Booklover's  '  to  drive  Miss 
Judson  home,  but  they're  taking  stock  and  she  turned 
me  down.  Won't  you  take  a  little  spin  before  it 
gets  cold?'* 

Nothing  could  have  suited  Freda's  tired  nerves 
better.  The  suggestion  seemed  to  have  dropped  from 
the  hand  of  Providence.  They  had  driven  several 
blocks  when  he  slowed  down  at  the  curb.  "  I've  got 
an  extra  coat  on  the  back  seat,"  he  said.  "  It's  one  of 
the  fussy  things  that  William  insists  upon  loading  in. 
I  want  you  to  put  it  on.  The  breeze  is  sharper  than  I 
thought." 

She  reached  back  into  the  tonneau  and  drew  it  out 
from  beneath  robes  and  crutches,  and  then  submitted 
while  he  helped  her  into  it  with  his  dexterous  right 
hand.  There  was  something  very  luxurious,  she  told 


200  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

herself  with  a  little  sigh  of  content,  something  curi- 
ously heart-warming  in  his  solicitude. 

While  "  Gold  Dust "  covered  the  uphill  blocks  out 
to  the  park,  they  talked  of  another  excursion  down 
the  peninsula  and  of  the  new  house  which  the  inde- 
fatigable Miss  Marcia  was  now  building  over  in 
Berkeley,  where  the  sisters  had  abruptly  decided  to 
live.  "  They're  a  restless  pair,"  Martin  Meggs  com- 
mented. "  But  keen  as  knife  blades,  both  of  them. 
Miss  Marion  is  really  the  whole  show  at  the  '  Book- 
lover's/  Whatever  she  says,  goes  with  Chapman  and 
Nevin." 

It  was  when  they  had  turned  into  one  of  the  broad, 
diagonal  boulevards  of  the  park,  that  he  suddenly 
shifted  the  subject  of  their  conversation.  "  Miss 
Bayne,"  he  said,  "  ever  since  I  first  met  you  I've  won- 
dered about  something.  It's  just  idle  curiosity,  but  I'd 
like  to  know.  Where  is  your  home?  " 

With  the  certainty  that  the  words  would  mean 
nothing  to  him,  she  named  Four  Corners. 

"  That's  it,"  he  cried  in  swift  enlightenment. 
"That's  the  very  place.  'Gold  Dust'  stalled  near 
there  once  when  I  was  making  an  up-country  tour, 
and  a  young  fellow  named  Bayne  towed  us  into  that 
town.  He  was  accommodating  and  good-natured  as 
he  could  be.  Your  brother,  perhaps?" 

"  My  uncle,"  she  told  him  briefly. 

"  Well,  we  put  up  that  night  at  that  terrible  hotel, 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  201 

the  Palace  I  think  they  called  it.  That's  a  safe  guess 
anyway  for  a  place  like  that.  And  the  next  day  I  had 
a  bad  attack  with  my  hip  and  William  made  me  stay 
there  almost  a  week.  That  was  about  a  year  ago,  I 
guess,"  he  mused.  "  But  I'll  never  forget  that  ex- 
perience. It  was  the  deadliest  five  days  I  ever  put  in 
anywhere.  The  people  tried  to  be  entertaining,  too. 
They  used  to  sit  on  that  front  porch  and  talk  to  me 
by  the  hour.  I  couldn't  complain  that  there  was  lack 
of  company — of  a  kind.  Beautiful  country  around 
there.  But  Lord,  how  lonely!  How  desperately 
lonely !  A  man  would  eat  his  heart  out  there." 

Freda  felt  the  ground  slipping  beneath  her  feet  and 
grasped  at  the  first  change  of  topic  that  presented  it- 
self. It  chanced  to  be  her  previous  evening's  experi- 
ence. In  the  telling  of  it,  she  found  an  unexpected 
enjoyment  and  relief.  And  her  companion  listened 
with  a  keen  responsive  interest.  "  Now,  you  are  a 
lawyer,"  she  finished  gaily.  "  What  would  you  advise 
me  to  do  with  that  money  ?  " 

"  Spend  it." 

He  laughed  at  her  startled  disapproval.  "  Now  as 
you  have  presented  the  case,"  he  went  on  argumen- 
tatively,  "  it  appears  that  when  the  party  of  the  first 
part  intrusted  this  money  to  you,  he  did  so  quite  of 
his  own  accord  and  without  undue  coercion  on  your 
part.  He  gave  it  to  you,  and  then  disappeared,  con- 
cealing his  identity  so  that  you  could  not  discover 


202  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

him.  Evidently  then  he  intended  to  have  you  keep 
the  gift,  and  there  are  no  strings  tied  to  it.  You  are 
free  to  spend  it  as  you  please,  and  you  can  be  assured 
too  that  no  matter  how  you  spend  it,  you  will  un- 
doubtedly use  it  more  wisely  than  he  would  have  done 
at  the  time  he  gave  it  to  you." 

She  laughed  at  his  logic,  but  it  had  relieved  her 
mind  to  tell  him  the  story.  "Thank  you,"  she  said, 
"  but  I've  already  decided  to  put  it  into  the  bank." 

"  I  might  have  known  it,"  he  sighed.  "  People 
always  decide  what  they  are  going  to  do  before  they 
ask  my  advice,  and  never  by  any  chance  is  it  the  thing 
which  I  suggest.  But  I  charge  for  my  services  just 
the  same.  My  education  was  expensive  and  I  can't 
give  away  its  fruits.  The  price  of  this  advice,  which 
you  have  just  rejected,  is  a  drive  down  to  San 
Mateo  next  Sunday  afternoon.  What  time  shall  we 
start?" 

He  called  for  her  at  two  the  following  Sunday,  and 
as  they  left  the  city  behind  them  and  turned  out  upon 
one  of  the  finest  stretches  of  roadway  in  the  state, 
Freda  drew  a  long  sigh  of  content. 

"  You  won't  mind  if  I  don't  talk  much  just  yet?  " 
she  said.  "  It's  such  a  rest  to  be  away  from  it  all. 
You  never  make  me  feel  that  I  have  to  be  entertaining 
all  the  time." 

Over  several  tree-bordered  miles  they  drove  in 
silence,  and  then  Martin  Meggs  spoke  abruptly.  "  Why 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  203 

do  you  stay  in  that  beauty  parlor?  It's  not  where  you 
belong  at  all.  Why  do  you  stay  there?  You  can't 
like  it." 

"  I  loathe  it." 

"And  yet  you  have  never  thought  of  doing  any- 
thing different?" 

"  I  think  of  nothing  else.  But  all  my  thinking 
seems  to  bring  me  nowhere.  You  see,  I  have  so  little 
to  offer — not  even  a  high  school  education.  And 
every  profession  that  is  worth  anything  demands  so 
much.  It  is  only  fair  that  it  should  demand  much. 
I  made  a  mistake  in  starting  there;  it's  only  one  of 
many  mistakes  that  I've  made  during  this  past  year, 
but  it's  too  late  to  change  now." 

"Why  too  late?" 

"  Because  to  learn  anything  else  would  take  too 
long.  Perhaps  I  lack  courage,  but  I'm  afraid  to  cut 
myself  completely  adrift." 

Martin  Meggs  was  staring  straight  ahead  down  the 
perfect  stretch  of  coast  boulevard.  There  was  a 
moment  of  silence,  while  he  veered  sharply  to  avoid 
a  reckless  motorcyclist.  Then  Freda  met  his  chal- 
lenge with  an  eager  question.  "  You  say  I  don't  be- 
long there.  Well,  where  do  I  belong?  " 

"  You  are  wasting  yourself  there.  Often  the  first 
step  toward  getting  a  thing  that  we  very  much  want 
in  this  life,  is  pushing  something  else  aside  that  is 
standing  in  its  way." 


204  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

"You  mean,"  she  asked  anxiously,  "burning 
bridges?" 

"  Absolutely.  Burning  bridges  is  a  dangerous  thing 
for  people  past  middle  life.  But  it's  a  sport  designed 
for  youth.  If  you've  never  tried  it,  you  have  no  idea 
how  exhilarating  it  is." 

"  I  have  tried  it." 

"  Well,  then,  didn't  you  find  that  after  it  was  done, 
and  even  before  the  red  coals  had  a  chance  to  die  out, 
that  a  new  plank  from  some — some  unexpected  source 
was  put  down  for  you  to  walk  upon?  " 

She  nodded  silently. 

"  And  didn't  you  find,"  he  persisted,  "  that  alfhough 
you  may  have  felt  a  little  anxious  when  you  touched 
the  match,  that  there  was  a  certain  thrill  and  excite- 
ment about  it  all?" 

His  voice  had  become  curiously  sharp  and  strained 
all  at  once,  but  he  still  stared  ahead  and  "  Gold  Dust " 
slackened  her  speed  slightly.  "You'll  always  find  it 
so,"  he  assured  her.  "  Progress  is  a  succession  of 
burned  bridges.  They  are  the  milestones  and  the 
torches  along  the  way  of — accomplishment — and 
happiness." 

The  last  words  came  with  an  effort,  and  the  car  was 
slowing  to  a  stop.  Freda,  glancing  at  her  companion's 
face,  was  startled  to  see  it  drawn  with  pain.  "  I  can't 
do  it,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "  I  can't  go  on — for  a  while. 
It's  got  me." 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  205 

"You're  ill!"  Freda  cried  in  swift  alarm.  "Oh, 
you're  ill  and  I  didn't  know!  Why  didn't  you  stop 
before?  "  Her  voice  was  full  of  poignant  compassion 
and  self-reproach. 

"  It's  just  my  old  hip  trouble.  I  have  spells  with 
it  sometimes.  There's  nothing  alarming  about  it.  I 
just  lose  control  of  the  clutch,  that's  all." 

But  Freda  saw  that,  in  spite  of  his  effort  to  re- 
assure her,  this  was  not  "  all."  His  face  had  suddenly 
become  haggard  and  old.  His  mouth  twitched  in  its 
agonized  effort  at  self-control.  She  shot  a  swift 
glance  about  them.  Through  the  line  of  poplars  that 
bordered  the  road,  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  white 
house.  It  was  one  of  those  commodious,  semi-rural 
homes  of  the  San  Mateo  region,  which  contrive,  by 
means  of  corner  driveways  and  other  landscape 
devices,  to  simulate  remoteness  from  the  public 
thoroughfare.  It  was  only  a  few  hundred  yards 
away. 

"  There  may  be  someone  here  who  can  help  you 
out  of  the  car,"  Freda  told  him,  as  she  stepped  hastily 
from  the  machine.  "You  must  lie  down  and  be  as 
comfortable  as  you  can." 

He  began  a  faint  protest,  but  she  was  already  dart- 
ing through  the  trees.  It  was  four  o'clock,  but  already 
the  long  shadows  of  winter  were  stealing  across  the 
lawn,  and  the  broad  drooping  eaves  of  the  house  made 
its  interior  almost  indiscernible  from  the  front  porch. 


206  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

But  the  shades  of  the  handsome  front  windows  were 
up,  and  as  Freda  stood  at  the  door,  she  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  family  party  grouped  about  the  open 
wood  fire  in  the  living  room.  The  electric  bell  arrested, 
for  an  instant,  their  attention,  but  none  of  them  moved 
in  response  to  its  summons.  Then,  unheralded  by  the 
sound  of  approaching  steps,  the  door  swung  slowly 
open.  The  impassive  figure  of  a  Chinese  servant  ap- 
peared in  the  aperture.  In  reply  to  Freda's  breathless 
request  to  speak  to  one  of  the  men  of  the  household, 
he  surveyed  her  with  dubious,  unresponsive  gaze. 
"  Who  you  like  see?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Any  one  of  them,"  she  entreated.  "  I  don't  know 
their  names,  but " 

He  retreated  a  few  steps  from  the  door,  and  glanced 
into  the  firelit  room.  "  Lady  come,"  he  announced 
laconically  to  the  family  at  large. 

A  young  man  in  tennis  flannels,  with  silk  neglige 
shirt,  appeared  in  the  hallway.  At  sight  of  the  alarm 
in  her  eyes,  his  casually  inquiring  glance  changed  to 
quick  concern.  An  instant  later  he  had  returned  to 
the  living  room  and  there  was  a  low  mumble  of  words. 
An  elderly  man  and  a  large  woman  with  restless  eyes 
and  a  white  waist  of  intricate  design,  hurried  to  the 
door.  "  I  saw  their  car  out  there,"  the  young  man  in 
tennis  flannels  was  saying,  "  but  I  thought  they'd  just 
stopped  to  change  a  tire." 

They  hastened  with  Freda  across  the  lawn  to  the 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  207 

roadside,  where  "  Gold  Dust "  stood  motionless  be- 
neath a  giant  poplar.  It  was  no  longer  possible  for 
her  owner  to  attempt  a  gallant  unconcern.  Pain  had 
him  in  her  pitiless  grip  and  had  wrung  him  limp. 
His  head  had  fallen  upon  his  arms  on  the  back  of  the 
seat  beside  him.  He  did  not  move  when  the  elderly 
man  gently  touched  his  shoulder. 

"  The  pain  is  in  his  hip,"  Freda  explained  in  a  low 
voice.  "  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  agony  to  him  to  be 
moved." 

"  Bring  that  small  cot  off  the  sleeping  porch, 
Lloyd,"  the  woman  ordered.  Her  restless  air  of  petted 
indulgence  was  gone.  It  was  she  who  directed  the 
placing  of  the  cot  and  the  raising  of  Martin  Meggs' 
racked  body. 

"  To  the  library,"  she  said  as  the  stretcher-bearers 
moved  away  from  the  car.  "  It's  quieter  there."  She 
preceded  them  to  the  room,  drew  the  shades,  and 
lighted  a  lamp  on  the  reading  table.  "  We  can  have 
a  doctor  here  in  five  minutes,"  she  said  to  Freda. 
"  One  of  our  neighbors  is " 

A  faint  voice  from  the  couch  interposed.  Freda 
leaned  over  to  catch  the  words.  "  Please — don't — let 
— them — bring — a — doctor.  He — could — do — nothing 
— for — me.  Just — leave — me — quiet — with — you." 

The  woman  received  this  message  without  protest. 
"  I  know  a  man  hates  to  have  a  scene,"  she  whispered 
to  Freda.  "  But  I'll  be  right  across  here  in  the  living 


208  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

room,  and  if  he  should  want  brandy  or  coffee  or  any 
kind  of  stimulant " 

The  two  men  went  out  with  her,  and  she  closed 
the  door  softly.  Freda  went  back  to  the  couch  with 
that  feeling  of  blank  helplessness  which,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  another's  anguish,  is  the  most  poignant  of  all 
life's  miseries.  More  intensely  than  she  had  ever 
wanted  anything  in  her  life,  she  wanted  William.  But 
William  was  away  upon  his  one-day-a-month  holiday. 
It  would  be  impossible  to  reach  him  by  'phone  till  after 
six.  For  an  interminable  quarter  of  an  hour  she 
sat  near  the  couch  almost  fearing  to  breathe  lest  she 
disturb  the  sufferer.  Then  very  quietly  she  bent  over 
him  and  spoke,  moved  by  an  idea  which  desperation 
had  suggested.  "  Mr.  Meggs,  haven't  you — isn't 
there  something  beside  your  crutches  that  you  carry 
with  you  for — emergencies  like  this?" 

Without  opening  his  eyes  he  nodded,  as  though 
he  had  been  expecting  the  question. 

"Is  it  out  in  the  car?" 

He  nodded  again.  She  hesitated  a  moment.  Then 
he  opened  his  eyes  and  the  agony  in  them  sent  her 
swiftly  across  the  room,  and  out  into  the  wide  hall- 
way. At  the  sound  of  her  footsteps,  the  man  in  tennis 
flannels  confronted  her,  mute  solicitude  in  his  eyes. 

"  I'm  going  out  to  get  something  from  the  car," 
she  explained.  "  No,  thanks,  don't  come." 

She  felt  an  instinctive  impulse  to  guard,  even  from 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  209 

these  sympathetic  strangers,  Martin  Meggs'  pitiful 
secret.  Some  one  had  brought  "  Gold  Dust "  up  to 
the  front  steps.  As  she  hurriedly  descended  them, 
the  man  snapped  on  the  porch  light  behind  her.  The 
search  consumed  only  a  few  moments.  In  one  of  the 
flap  pockets  beside  the  rear  seat,  her  groping  ringers 
closed  upon  the  panacea  for  Martin  Meggs'  sufferings. 

Ten  minutes  after  the  hypodermic  had  been  ad- 
ministered he  was  resting  comfortably,  and  an  hour 
later  they  were  making  their  departure.  There  was 
some  protest  among  the  group  on  the  front  porch  who 
saw  them  off,  the  elderly  gentleman  insisting  that  his 
son  follow  the  car  to  see  them  safely  to  their  destina- 
tion. Martin  Meggs  turned  to  the  girl  standing  beside 
his  machine.  "  I  wouldn't  have  you  frightened  or 
exposed  to  any  risk/'  he  told  her  in  a  low  voice,  while 
he  drew  on  his  gloves.  "  Will  you  let  this  man  take 
you  home?" 

"  I  am  not  taking  any  risk  when  I  am  with  you," 
she  answered.  Thus  the  matter  was  settled  and  a 
moment  later  "  Gold  Dust "  glided  out  to  the  coast 
highway,  her  driver  alert  and  confident  at  the  wheel. 

They  reached  the  city  shortly  after  six,  but  Freda 
refused  to  allow  Martin  Meggs  to  leave  her  at  the  flat. 
"  I  wouldn't  have  a  happy  minute  thinking  of  you  out 
there  alone,"  she  said.  "  Let  me  go  out  and  stay  till 
William  comes.  He  can  drive  me  back  after  he  has 
made  you  comfortable." 


210  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

So  the  car  climbed  the  hills  to  the  beach.  As  they 
passed  the  Judson  cottage,  they  saw  that  the  shades 
were  drawn,  except  in  the  wide  living  room  window 
where  a  "  For  Sale  "  sign  stared  out  across  the  sand 
dunes. 

Arrived  at  their  destination,  Freda,  with  instinctive 
tact,  left  her  companion  to  make  the  awkward  transfer 
from  steering  wheel  to  crutches,  and  when  he  thumped 
into  the  den,  she  had  turned  on  the  lights  and  touched 
a  match  to  the  fire. 

"It  isn't  cold  at  all,"  she  said.  "The  furnace 
keeps  the  house  just  right  all  the  time,  but  it's  cozy 
to  have  this,  don't  you  think?  " 

He  sank  into  one  of  the  cavernous  chairs  with  a  sigh 
of  unutterable  relief.  "  And  you  chose  the  right  room 
to  light  up,"  he  told  her.  "  I  only  have  a  living  room 
because  Miss  Marcia  insisted  upon  it.  But  I  hate  it 
and  never  go  in  there  except  when  she  comes  to  see 
me.  She  considers  that  room  her  masterpiece,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"  She  considers  the  whole  house  her  masterpiece," 
Freda  responded.  "  And  surely  it  must  be.  It's  an 
ideal  home;  different  from  any  bungalow  that  I  ever 


saw." 


"  Do  you  really  think  it  looks  like  a  home  ?  "  he 
asked  eagerly.  "  I've  always  had  the  feeling  that  it 
has  the  words  '  Private  Sanitarium '  painted  over  the 
front  door." 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  211 

Neither  of  them  made  any  pretense  of  ignoring  the 
near-tragedy  of  the  afternoon,  but  they  spoke  of  it 
casually,  thus  avoiding  the  strain  of  that  ghastly  form 
of  conversation  which  would  have  been  theirs  had  they 
pretended  blindness  to  a  subject,  stretched  like  a 
shrouded  corpse  between  them. 

When  the  onyx  clock  on  the  mantel  struck  seven, 
Freda  began  to  listen  for  William,  but  the  half  hour 
chimed  and  still  he  did  not  come.  Then  Martin  Meggs 
proposed  supper  with  the  electric  plate  and  toaster  as 
aides. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'd  really  love,"  Freda  cried. 
"  I've  been  thinking  about  it,  and  wondering  if  I 
could — if  you  would  let  me  get  supper  for  us  out 
in  that  wonderful  kitchen  of  yours.  And  listen," 
she  went  on,  her  face  aglow  with  sudden  inspira- 
tion, "  let's  have  it  at  this  table  here  by  the  fire.  It 
would  be  ever  so  much  more  fun  than  in  the  dining 


room." 


"  But  I'm  going  to  help,"  her  host  insisted.  "  I 
know  I'm  a  better  cook  than  you  are  anyway 
and "  He  had  already  slipped  the  crutches  be- 
neath his  arms. 

She  stopped  on  her  way  out  ef  the  den  and  re- 
garded him  with  severely  challenging  eyes.  "  What 
experience  have  you  ever  had  in  real  cooking?  "  she 
demanded.  "  Could  you  get  up  a  big  dinner  for  six 
hungry  working  men,  on  an  old  range,  whose  oven 


212  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

was  out  of  commission  most  ef  the  time,  and  whose 
fuel  had  to  be  carried  from  yards  away?  Could  you 
stretch  your  menu  at  the  last  minute  so  that  it  would 
satisfy  eight  men  instead  of  six,  and  serve  it  on  time, 
without  the  aid  of  running  water  and  wizard-like 
Williams?" 

"  I'll  set  the  table/'  he  suggested  humbly. 

While  he  stumped  from  pantry  to  den,  arranging 
the  gold-circled  china,  which  Miss  Marcia  had 
selected,  the  sound  of  Freda's  voice  singing,  out  in  the 
tile-finished  kitchen,  floated  in  to  him.  He  set  a  shal- 
low, dull  blue  bowl,  filled  with  canary  colored  pansies, 
in  the  center  of  the  table  and  hobbled  out  to  where 
the  girl  stood  at  the  wall  cabinet,  beating  the  whites 
of  eggs.  *  I  never  allow  my  help  to  sing  in  the 
house,"  he  warned  her.  "William  takes  his  duties 
seriously." 

"  A  deaf-mute  could  sing  in  this  room,"  she  told 
him.  She  had  donned  a  long  white  butcher's  apron 
which  she  had  discovered  behind  the  door,  and  it  fell 
to  the  hem  of  her  demure  little  brown  serge  gown. 
"  I  can't  get  used  to  a  kitchen  like  this,"  she  went  on. 
"  Everything  right  to  hand,  and  the  flour  sifting  itself 
before  my  very  eyes.  Why,  William  will  be  ruined. 
I'm  going  to  have  cheese  omelet  and  hot  biscuit 
(they're  already  in),  and,  oh  yes,  you  can  be  making 
the  coffee.  Two  cups  apiece,  and  some  for  William 
when  he  comes,  for  good  coffee  simply  cannot  be  made 


IN  HIGH  GEAR 

in  small  quantities.  Please  do  it  in  the  den  so  you 
won't  be  in  my  way." 

"  I  shall  make  it  in  here,"  he  said  stubbornly.  "  I 
never  do  light  housekeeping  in  the  den.  It's  shiftless 
and — desecrating.  And  it  would  ruin  William." 

When  the  supper  was  ready,  Freda  arranged  it  on 
a  colossal  tray  and  carried  it  into  the  den,  Martin 
Meggs  hobbling  behind  with  the  coffee  and  a  bowl  of 
fruit.  Together  they  drew  the  table  closer  to  the  fire 
and  he  emptied  into  it  half  a  sack  of  giant  pine  cones, 
the  spoils  of  a  recent  tour  of  the  Marin  county  moun- 
tains. The  flames  changed  to  blue,  tipped  with  gold, 
and  for  a  moment  they  sat  watching  them  in  silence. 
Then  Martin  Meggs  rapped  on  the  table  with  the 
handle  of  his  knife.  "  I'm  starving,"  he  reminded 
her  plaintively.  "  And  the  omelet  is  beginning  to  fall." 

Then,  as  she  turned  with  a  guilty  start,  "  I  knew 
that  would  bring  you  back.  And  may  I  say  that  you 
are  the  only  woman  I  ever  saw  who  could  get  an  ome- 
let to  the  table  without  losing  her  temper  ?  The  decline 
and  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire  doesn't  line  up  as  a  dis- 
aster at  all  beside  the  decline  and  fall  of  an  omelet." 

It  was  a  gay  little  supper,  with  the  pine  cones  light- 
ing up  the  room,  and  the  covered  pan  of  hot  biscuits 
keeping  warm  upon  the  hearth.  When  it  was  over, 
Martin  Meggs  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  gazed  at 
his  companion  through  half -closed  eyes.  She  was 
staring  into  the  fire  again,  where  the  red-hot  cones 


214  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

had  crumbled  into  ruins.  A  silence  fell  between  the 
two.  It  lengthened  into  minutes. 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  do  it  ?  "  Freda  asked  sud- 
denly. 

"  Do  what?  "  he  asked,  startled. 

"  Smoke.  That's  what  this  room  is  made  for,  and 
I  don't  object — I  like  it — anything  but  cigarettes." 

He  drew  out  pipe,  tobacco,  and  ash  tray  from  the 
broad  shelf  under  the  table,  and  Freda  threw  more 
pine  cones  upon  the  fire.  "  I  thought  I  heard  William 
just  then,"  she  said. 

"  No,  it  was  only  the  wind." 

"  But  he  ought  to  be  coming.    It's  getting  late." 

"  Confound  William.  I  don't  care  when  he  comes. 
Aren't  you  having  a  good  time  ?  " 

Ten  minutes  later  William  came,  breathless  with 
apologies  and  incoherent  explanations  concerning  a 
tie-up  of  the  transbay  trains.  "  I  saw  '  Gold  Dust '  out 
front,  so  I  knew  you'd  got  home  all  right,  suh,"  he 
ended.  "  Do  you  want  me  to — shall  I  put  it " 

"  Just  clear  away  the  dishes  here,  William,"  Martin 
Meggs  ordered,  "  and  make  yourself  some  supper. 
I'm  going  to  take  Miss  Bayne  home." 


XI 

DURING  the  next  week  Freda  saw  nothing  of  Martin 
Meggs,  but  she  was  conscious  that  their  Sunday  after- 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  215 

noon  and  evening  experience  had,  in  some  unaccount- 
able way,  altered  the  relation  between  them.  He  had 
become  the  object  of  compassion,  the  wistful  de- 
pendent, and  she,  the  protector,  the  guardian  of  his 
infirmity.  The  brooding  maternal  instinct,  that  had 
once  kindled  for  her  father  in  his  loneliness,  had  flared 
again  into  arrogant  fire. 

But  a  subtle  change  had  come  over  the  little  flat  on 
Fillmore  street,  and  this  occupied  most  of  her  thought. 
It  was  quite  impossible  for  her  to  describe  to  herself 
the  nature  of  this  slow  transformation.  Certainly  the 
same  unexacting,  wholehearted  friendship  still  existed 
between  the  trio,  but  somehow  she  felt  a  new  sense 
of  constraint  that  was  not  the  constraint  of  unfriend- 
liness or  suspicion,  but  the  atmosphere  that  pervades 
a  group  who  are  living  at  high  pressure.  In  some 
indefinable  way  she  sensed  the  fact  that  the  old  order 
of  their  lives  was  about  to  change  and  disruption  was 
in  prospect.  As  Glenn  grew  more  silent  and  absorbed 
in  her  music,  Eileen  grew  more  garrulously  gay,  but 
to  Freda  her  reckless  effort  at  happiness  was  a  pathetic 
pretense.  During  the  unguarded  moments  when  her 
face  was  in  repose,  something  looked  out  of  her  eyes, 
something  that  was  like  a  wan  face  appearing  at  the 
window  of  a  haunted  house. 

Once  Freda  ventured  to  question  Glenn  about  her. 
"  Eileen  is  all  nerves  lately/'  she  said.     "  She  seems 


2i6  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

to  be  under  a  strain  of  some  sort.  Do  you  know — 
whether  I  could  help  her  in  any  way?  " 

"  Ask  her,"  Glenn  responded  briefly. 

But  from  Eileen  herself  she  obtained  no  more 
definite  explanation.  It  was  after  Eileen  had  returned 
from  a  second  expedition  in  the  mysterious  car,  with 
the  tall,  effective  man  who  had  called  for  her  on  that 
first  Sunday  of  Freda's  residence  at  the  flat.  George 
Locke  had  come  a  few  moments  after  their  departure, 
and  had  gone  away  in  morose  silence  when  Freda  had 
given  him  Eileen's  message  that  she  would  be  away 
all  afternoon. 

"  Eileen,"  she  said  now,  sitting  on  the  side  of  the 
bed  while  the  other  girl  undressed,  "  when  I  was  lonely 
and  bewildered  and  friendless,  you  and  Glenn  took  me 
in,  and  you  have  done  everything  to  make  me  feel 
happy  and  at  home  with  you.  I've  never  been  able  to 

repay  it,  but  I  have  the  feeling  lately "    She  paused, 

searching  carefully  for  words  to  tide  her  over  what  she 
felt  to  be  dangerous  ground.  "  I've  felt  that  you  were 
troubled  about  something.  I  don't  want  to  seem  in- 
quisitive or  obtrusive,  but  I  just  want  you  to  know 
that  if  I  can  help  you  in  any  way " 

"  Thanks,"  Eileen  interposed.  But  she  had  stopped 
with  the  brush  halfway  down  her  hair.  "  Thanks, 
kiddo,  for  the  idea,  but  there's  nothing  anybody  can 
do  for  me.  If  you've  ever  driven  a  cheap  car," 
— she  had  resumed  her  brushing  again, — "  you  know 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  217 

how  hard  it  is  for  it  to  go  slow  when  you've  got  it  in 
high.  It  seems  to  shake  it  all  to  pieces.  Well,  that's 
me.  I'm  a  cheap  car,  geared  for  a  lc-;el  road  at  fair 
speed.  But  I've  got  a  stretch  of  hill  now  that  I've 
got  to  take  slow,  and  the  high  pressure  is  still  on.  I 
may  blow  up,  I  don't  know.  But  nobody  can  drive  the 
thing  but  me.  I'm  the  only  person  livin'  that's  got 
its  number." 

With  this  explanation  Freda  was  obliged  to  be  con- 
tent. But  good  fortune  descended  upon  one  of  the 
trio  during  the  next  week,  and  this,  for  a  time,  was 
the  absorbing  topic  of  their  conversation. 

Coming  in  breathless  to  a  belated  dinner  on  Satur- 
day evening,  Glenn  hurried  out  to  the  kitchen  where 
the  other  two  girls  lingered  over  their  dessert.  She 
had  stopped  in  the  living  room  only  long  enough  to 
slip  her  violin  case  into  its  place  under  Freda's  bed. 
Then  she  threw  open  the  kitchen  door  and  announced, 
in  dramatically  triumphant  tones,  "  I  got  it !  " 

"  You  never  did,  Glenn,"  Eileen  cried,  pushing  back 
her  chair  and  running  to  her  in  joyous  congratula- 
tion. 

Glenn  waved  aside  the  warm  plate  which  Freda  set 
before  her.  "  Never  mind  heatin'  up  anything  for  me ; 
I  couldn't  eat  a  thing.  I  just  want  to  talk.  I  didn't 
say  anything  about  this  to  you,  Fred,  because  1 
wanted  to  surprise  you  if  I  could." 

"Where  is  it?    At  Radcliffe's?"  Eileen  asked. 


218  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

Glenn  nodded.  "  I  told  you  that  I'd  rather  get  in 
there  than  anywhere,  you  know.  It's  the  swellest  cafe 
in  town,  and  although  there's  some  that  pay  better, 
they've  got  the  best  class  of  musicians.  Mosely  put 
me  wise  to  the  place  at  Christmas  time ;  said  they  were 
losing  their  violinist,  but  I  applied  too  late.  But  when 
I  went  for  my  lesson  last  week,  he  advised  me  to  try 
again.  It  seems  that  he'd  spoken  to  Radcliffe  about 
me,  for  when  I  went  in  to  see  him,  he  wasn't  bowled 
over  with  surprise.  First  he  made  me  play  for  him, 
up  there  in  a  sort  of  office  place.  Then  he  took  me 
down  to  the  mezzanine  floor,  where  the  musicians 
were  just  tuning  up  for  dinner,  and  told  me  to  take 
the  violin  part  in  the  first  number.  Well,  maybe  you 
think  I  wasn't  fussed.  I'd  never  seen  the  pianist  or 
'cellist  before,  and  the  dining  room  was  beginning  to 
fill.  But  the  pianist  seems  to  be  used  to  having  Rad- 
cliffe wish  strange  musicians  onto  him  like  that,  and 
he  gave  me  a  few  pointers  and  we  were  off.  It  was 
that  part  of  Thai's  that  Freda  likes,  and  it  went  off 
smooth  as  oiled  lightning.  Then  somebody  sent  up  a 
request  for  Mendelssohn's  Spring  Song,  and  we  gave 
'em  that,  and  afterwards  one  of  the  new  fox-trots. 
It's  the  popular  stuff  that's  the  dickens  to  play  without 
rehearsal,  but  we  got  through  it,  and  then  Radcliffe 
sent  up  word  that  he'd  see  me  again.  I  felt  as  if  I 
was  goin'  to  have  a  tooth  pulled,  but  /  got  the  job,  and 
am  to  begin  next  week.  Good-by,  Marcel !  " 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  219 

"  Have  you  told  Bagley  that  he'll  have  to  look 
around  for  another  model  ?  "  Eileen  queried. 

"  No,  I'm  goin'  to  spring  that  on  him  when  I  go 
tomorrow.  I'll  be  glad  to  do  it  too.  He's  getting  so 
he  thinks  he  owns  me.  Freda  would  be  shocked  at 
the  way  he  makes  me  pose  sometimes;  that's  why  I 
never  said  anything  about  it.  But  I  had  to  have  the 
money,  and  he  knew  it.  What  do  you  suppose  he  had 
the  nerve  to  say  to  me  last  Sunday  when  I  was  there? 
'  No  woman  is  so  good  that  she  won't  fall  for  some- 
thing/ he  says.  '  They  don't  all  bite  at  the  same  fly, 
but  it's  only  a  question  of  selectin'  the  right  bait/  ' 

"  Well,  I  guess  he  ain't  far  off  there,"  Eileen  mused. 
"  What  would  be  too  strong  a  temptation  for  me, 
wouldn't  be  enough  for  you,  maybe — but  something 
else  would." 

"George  comin'  tonight?"  Glenn  questioned. 

Eileen  nodded. 

"  Well,  before  you  go  out  it  seems  to  me  we'd  better 
talk  things  over  a  little.  Freda  ought  to  know  that 
you're  thinkin'  of  leavin'  us,  Eileen." 

"Why — my  plans  ain't  certain  yet;  that's  why  I 
haven't  said  anything.  But  I  guess  it  won't  surprise 
you  much  to  know  that  I  may  be  leavin'  the  store 
pretty  soon.  I've  had  an  offer  down  south  and — it 
might  happen  that  I'd  be  leavin'  suddenly." 

"Oh,  Eileen!"  Freda  cried.  "I  hope  it  will  be 
good — something  much  better  than  this.  Of  course 


220  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

I'll  be  sorry  to  have  you  go  away,  but "  She 

stopped,  searching  the  other  girl's  face  for  a  sign  that 
would  guide  her  congratulations  or  sympathy.  But 
there  was  none.  Eileen's  responsive  eyes  were 
strangely  emotionless.  Whatever  the  plans  were  to 
be,  they  were  apparently  shaping  themselves  without 
direction  from  her.  "But  anyway,"  she  said  after 
a  moment's  silence,  "  if  you  girls  want  to  make  other 
arrangements,  go  to  it,  without  thinkin'  about  me  and 
I'll " 

The  doorbell  announced  George,  and  she  hurried 
away  to  get  her  wraps.  The  girls,  left  alone,  discussed 
plans  in  a  desultory  way,  Glenn  expressing  the  desire 
to  board  for  awhile  and  thus  be  relieved  of  house- 
keeping cares.  But  although  they  came  to  no  decision, 
Freda  went  to  bed  feeling  that  another  bridge  was 
about  to  be  burned  behind  her. 

The  following  Wednesday  evening,  Martin  Meggs 
called  for  her  at  the  closing  hour,  but  for  some  reason, 
unaccountable  to  herself,  she  refused  at  first  his  in- 
vitation to  drive  to  the  presidio. 

He  looked  crestfallen.  "  But  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  something — something  important!"  he  cried. 
"  We  needn't  stay  late,  and  you  told  me  once  that  you 
never  have  dinner  till  seven." 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  that,"  she  demurred. 

"What  is  it  then?" 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  feeling  irritated  at  her 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  221 

own  indecision.  There  was  no  reason  why  she 
shouldn't  go,  and  a  moment  later  they  were  on  their 
way.  Through  the  congested  streets  of  the  down- 
town district,  Martin  Meggs  drove  in  watchful 
silence.  But  when  they  turned  up  the  hills  toward  the 
presidio,  he  relaxed  his  vigilance  though  his  eyes 
were  still  fixed  unswervingly  upon  the  succession 
of  sloping  streets  that  rose  interminably  before 
them. 

"What  I  wanted  to  tell  you  was  this,"  he  said, 
settling  back  a  little  on  the  seat.  "  I've  decided  to 
break  into  society.  I'm  going  to  give  a  party." 

"  A  party ! "  Freda  cried  with  quick,  responsive  in- 
terest. "Where?  When?  Who?" 

"  At  my  house — on  Saturday  evening — the  Misses 
Judson,  their  brother,  who  is  visiting  them  this  week 
from  the  east,  and  a  college  friend  of  mine,  who  is 
traveling  with  him." 

He  glanced  at  the  girl's  eager  face  and  then  plunged 
into  an  elaboration  of  his  plan.  "  You  see,  I  want  to 
have  the  fellows  out  while  they're  here,  but  although 
they  were  glib  with  promises  over  the  'phone,  it's 
safer  to  offer  your  friends  some  inducement  when  you 
live  out  where  I  do.  So  I  decided  to  have  a  party  and 
invite  the  ladies  too." 

"  What  kind  of  a  party  will  it  be?  " 

"  Don't  hurry  me,"  he  remonstrated.  "  I'm  about 
to  give  you  a  scenario  of  the  idea.  The  Judsons  have 


222  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

sold  their  place  out  there,  as  you  may  know,  and  are 
staying  at  the  St.  Gregory  here  in  town  until  their 
Berkeley  place  is  finished.  So  the  party  are  all  to- 
gether, and  easy  to  herd.  There's  a  good  show  on 
at  the  Columbia,  I  find,  so  I  thought  we'd  take  that 
in  first  and  then  drive  out  to  the  house  and  have  a 
little  supper.  There'll  be  just  six  of  us.  I  am  assum- 
ing, of  course,  that  you  received  my  engraved  invita- 
tion and  will  come." 

"  And  now/'  he  went  on,  when  she  had  satisfied  him 
upon  this  point,  "  now  I  come  to  the  part  which  needs 
your  assistance,  cooperation,  and  aid.  William  is 
faithful  and  trustworthy,  but  as  a  caterer  he  has  his 
limitations.  When  he  came  into  my  employ,  he 
frankly  admitted  that  his  knowledge  of  cookery  was 
confined  to  what  he  aptly  and  literally  termed,  '  the 
top  of  the  stove.'  Now  what  I  want  to  know  is  this : 
Is  it  possible  or  even  probable  that  a  proper  theatre 
supper  may  be  prepared  without  the  use  of  an  oven? 
Of  course  I  can  buy  the  cakes  and  truck  like  that,  but 
I  was  thinking  of " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do !  "  Freda  cried.  "  You 
know  Saturday  is  Washington's  Birthday.  Had  you 
thought  of  that?  So  I'll  be  free  all  day.  If  you  could 
call  for  me  early  that  afternoon,  I'll  come  out  and 
make  some  things.  I'd  just  love  it,  and  I  can't  get 
used  to  the  idea  of  buying  a  cake.  What  else  are  you 
going  to  have?" 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  223 

"  Reach  into  the  pocket  next  to  you  there,  and  you'll 
find  it  all  written  out  on  a  card.  William  feels  a  little 
nervous,  and  wanted  to  see  it  down  in  black  and 
white." 

She  studied  the  menu  with  critical  approval.  "It's 
just  right,"  she  told  him,  and  added  to  herself,  "  And 
not  too  lavish  to  be  in  good  taste,  like  so  many  parties 
are  now,  that  I  hear  people  talk  about." 

And  so,  on  the  following  Saturday  afternoon,  she 
worked  with  joyous  absorption  in  Martin  Meggs' 
kitchen,  while  he  tinkered  with  "  Gold  Dust "  out  in 
the  garage,  and  called  occasional  instructions  to  Will- 
iam, cutting  daffodils  and  greenery  in  the  trim  back 
garden.  At  five,  the  two  men  came  in  with  vague 
offers  of  help,  impelled  by  the  savory  aroma  which 
had  drifted  out  to  them  through  the  open  window. 
Freda,  in  the  act  of  spreading  a  creamy  maple-colored 
frosting  over  the  top  of  a  four-story  cake,  frowned 
upon  the  intruders.  "  I  made  a  cake  just  for  you — 
over  there  on  the  sink  in  that  little  tin  pan.  Take  it 
and  clear  out." 

"Can't  I  have  the  remains  of  the  frosting  dish?" 
Martin  Meggs  entreated,  as  William,  mumbling 
superlative  compliments,  disappeared  through  the 
back  door  with  a  segment  of  the  extra  cake. 

"  There  aren't  going  to  be  any  remains,"  she  told 
him.  "  All  this  is  for  the  sides."  She  revolved  the 
plate  slowly,  dabbing  at  it  with  the  spatula,  as  a 


224  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

sculptor  might  retouch  his  clay.  "  In  ten  minutes  I'll 
be  finished  and  ready  to  go,"  she  announced,  when  she 
had  set  the  cake  away  and  drawn  another  pan  from 
the  oven.  "  These  are  cheese  straws.  I  never  tried 
them  before,  but  they  look  all  right,  don't  you  think? 
We'll  each  try  just  one." 

While  she  tried  hers,  she  turned  the  leaves  of  the 
old  recipe  book  of  her  mother's,  which  she  had  brought 
from  the  ranch,  and  Martin  Meggs,  supported  by  two 
crutches,  stood  watching  her  on  the  doorsill. 

The  last  rays  of  winter  sunshine  still  lingered  at 
the  windows.  The  litter  of  used  dishes  on  the  table, 
the  fragrance  of  fresh  baking,  the  open  door  of  the 
kitchen  cabinet,  revealing  its  rows  of  spices  and  con- 
diments, the  glistening  crockery,  and  the  girl  so 
quietly  self-assured,  standing  beside  the  pan  of  crispy 
cheese  straws,  filled  the  little  room  with  cozy  warmth 
and  transformed  the  cold  perfection  of  its  modernity 
into  something  irresistibly  human,  livable,  welcoming. 
Freda  glanced  up  casually  and  met  Martin  Meggs' 
eyes  off  guard.  She  closed  the  recipe  book  and  began 
untying  the  stiff  strings  of  the  butcher's  apron.  "  I'm 
ready  to  go  now,"  she  said  quietly.  .  .  * 

When  the  theater  party  met  that  evening  at  the 
Columbia,  every  one  was  in  high  spirits.  Martin 
Meggs,  supporting  himself  with  reckless  unconcern 
on  one  crutch,  led  the  way  to  a  lower  box  and  seated 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  225 

his  guests,  adjusting  their  chairs  with  careful  eye  on 
the  angle  of  stage.  They  were  an  interesting  group; 
the  Misses  Judson,  following  the  technique  of  the 
drama  with  amiably  critical  enjoyment;  their  brother, 
indelibly  stamped  with  the  Manhattan  ensign,  frankly 
delighted  with  the  atmosphere  of  the  west,  and  of 
finding  himself  spectator  to  its  successive  revelations; 
Dick  Reynolds,  cosmopolite  and  friend  of  the  world 
at  large,  with  a  genius  for  sparkling  conversation, 
which  he  somehow  contrived  to  restrain  from  becom- 
ing monopolistic. 

When  the  performance  was  over,  Martin  Meggs  and 
Freda  left  the  others  to  the  capable  direction  of  Miss 
Marcia,  and  led  the  way  to  the  beach.  "  Marion 
promised  to  stop  at  the  window  and  get  some  matinee 
tickets  for  a  friend,"  her  brother  explained.  "But 
I've  got  a  car  here  and  we'll  be  right  out." 

The  bungalow  was  brilliant  with  lights  when  "  Gold 
Dust  "  drew  up  at  the  door,  and  the  hospitable  William 
stood  at  the  curb. 

"The  table  looks  lovely!  "  Freda  cried,  as  he  fol- 
lowed her  into  the  dining  room.  lt  You're  an  artist, 
William.  Only  an  artist  could  make  daffodils  and 
violets  look  like  this."  She  threw  her  wrap  over  the 
back  of  a  broad  leather  divan  in  a  corner  of  the  room, 
and  stood  for  a  moment  surveying  the  perfectly  ap- 
pointed table  with  glowing  eyes.  It  was  thus  that 
Martin  Meggs  found  her,  a  radiantly  happy  little 


226  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

figure  in  simple  white  evening  gown.  The  one  bit  of 
color  in  her  costume  was  the  corsage  bouquet  of  fern 
and  violets  that  he  had  sent  her,  and  the  only  touch 
of  sophistication,  the  coquettish  purple-winged  butter- 
fly which  Eileen's  expert  fingers  had  enmeshed  in 
the  soft  waves  of  her  hair. 

"  I  feel  as  excited  as  if  it  were  my  party ! "  she 
cried. 

"  It  is  your  party,"  he  told  her. 

"  No,  I'm  not  the  guest  of  honor." 

"  But  you  made  the  refreshments." 

"  Some  of  them." 

"  And  you're  going  to  sit  opposite  me  and  serve  the 
coffee  and  ice-cream  brick.  What  more  status  do  you 
ask?" 

"  None !  "  she  cried  joyously.  "  None  at  all.  It's 
been  a  heavenly  evening ! "  She  hurried  to  the  win- 
dow and  drew  aside  the  curtains.  The  two  unblink- 
ing eyes  of  an  oncoming  machine  stared  back  at  her, 
grew  larger,  brighter,  and  then  abruptly  disappeared 
around  a  curve.  Two  other  cars  followed,  evidently 
going  out  to  the  Cliff  House  cafe,  and  then  there  was 
a  lull.  Martin  Meggs  came  up  and  stood  beside  her, 
looking  out.  Somewhere  there  was  a  tinkle  of  a  bell. 
A  moment  later  William  appeared,  his  eyes  wide  with 
the  excitement  of  the  born  sensation-monger.  "Mr. 
Judson  jus'  telephoned,  suh.  .  He  says  somebody  ran 
into  their  cyar  out  on  Van  Ness.  He  says  ain't 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  227 

nobody  hurt,  but  the  front's  all  smashed  in,  and  they 
won't  be  able  to  git  here." 

Freda  gave  a  cry  of  dismay.  "  Oh,  William,  you're 
sure  nobody  was  hurt  ?  " 

"  That's  what  he  said,  ma'am.  Said  nobody  was 
to  be  worried,  and  that  Mr.  Reynolds  would  take  the 
ladies  back  to  the  hotel  while  he  got  the  cyar  towed 
in.  Said  he'd  be  out  to  see  you  some  time  tomorrow, 
suh,  and  they's  awful  sorry  about  tonight.  Shall  I 
put  the  things " 

He  glanced  uncertainly  at  the  gold  and  blue  table. 
"  No,  leave  them  alone.  You  needn't  serve,  William. 
I'll  call  you  later." 

"  Yes,  suh."  They  heard  him  snap  off  the  lights 
in  the  rear  of  the  house,  and  then  the  sound  of  his 
retreating  footsteps  in  the  court  as  he  went  out  to  his 
room  over  the  garage.  Martin  Meggs  followed  to 
the  den  and  set  a  screen  in  front  of  the  snapping  fire. 
When  he  returned  to  the  dining  room,  he  found 
Freda  drawing  on  her  long  coat  in  front  of  the 
buffet  mirror.  "  Can't  we  have  a  little  supper  before 
you  go  ?  "  he  entreated. 

She  shook  her  head,  reaching  for  the  filmy  blue 
scarf  on  the  edge  of  the  divan.  He  brought  it,  and 
stood  holding  it  in  his  hand  while  she  fumbled  with 
the  fastenings  of  her  coat.  "  It's  not  late,"  he 
pleaded.  "  Just  eleven  and — what  shall  I  do  with  the 
cake  and — all  the  other  things?  " 


228  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

He  was  making  a  desperate  effort  to  restore  to  his 
voice  its  old  whimsicality,  but  the  girl  sensed  the 
strain  back  of  it.  "  They  won't  be  wasted,"  she  assured 
him.  "  The  gentlemen  are  coming  out  tomorrow,  and 
you  can  have  a  bachelor  luncheon/' 

"  I  don't  care  about  a  bachelor  lunch,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  I  have  one  every  day."  His  voice  was  very 
low  but  it  seemed  to  fill  every  corner  of  the  room. 
He  came  a  step  nearer,  crushing  the  delicate  scarf  in 
his  ringers.  "  Why  must  you  go  now  ?  "  he  demanded 
hoarsely.  "Is  it  because — you  are  afraid  to  stay?" 

She  met  his  eyes  in  the  buffet  mirror  and  groped 
for  the  bit  of  chiffon.  "  Yes,"  she  breathed. 

Her  fingers  grasped  nervously  at  the  trailing  end 
of  the  scarf.  The  rest  of  it  was  still  clutched  in  his 
hand  like  a  vise,  and  slowly  he  drew  her  to  him.  "  It's 
too  late,"  he  said.  "  It's  too  late  for  either  of  us  to 
be  afraid  now."  He  reached  for  her,  and  drew  her 
to  him  with  a  fiercely  compelling  arm.  She  was  ter- 
rified but  fascinated  too.  "Freda,"  he  whispered 
brokenly.  "  Dear  little  name,  dear  little  girl,  do  you 
think  I  am  made  of  stone?  " 

Cold  fear,  and  a  strange  happiness  surged  over  her. 
In  the  conflict  raging  between  the  two  she  could  not 
define  her  feeling.  The  only  thing  of  which  she  felt 
certain  in  that  instant,  was  that  this  was  the  biggest 
moment  of  her  life. 

"  I  have  tried  to  give  you  up,"  he  was  saying. 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  229 

"  Ever  since  that  first  day  I  met  you,  I  have  tried 
to  give  you  up.    But  chance,  fate,  life  itself,  have  all 
been  against  me.     Everything  has  conspired  to  drive 
home  the  truth — that  you  were  made  for  me — that  I 
can't  live  without  you." 

His  words  thrilled  her  with  a  strange  new  sense  of 
power,  with  an  infinite  compassion,  with  an  almost 
maternal  tenderness.  Without  forcing  him  to  relin- 
quish his  hold  upon  her,  she  drew  him  gently  toward 
the  wide  divan. 

"  Freda,"  he  whispered,  "  do  you  care  for  me — • 
just  a  little?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered. 

She  felt  almost  impatient  of  the  question.  The 
moment  was  too  big  for  cold  directness.  It  was 
enough  that  at  last  she  had  found  some  one  to  love 
her,  to  say  that  he  needed  her. 

But  her  reply  seemed  to  him  to  sound  the  note  of  his 
doom.  He  released  her  slowly.  "  Ah !  "  There  was 
a  world  of  renunciation  in  the  sigh.  "  If  you  did, 
you  would  know  it,"  he  told  her.  "If  you  cared,  only 
a  little,  you  would  have  no  doubt  about  it." 

For  him  the  scene  seemed  to  have  ended  as  abruptly 
as  it  had  begun.  Hope  flickered  out  of  his  eyes  and 
left  his  face  gray  and  haggard.  "We  must  go,"  he 
said  gently.  "  I  mustn't  keep  you  here." 

He  felt  blindly  for  his  crutch.  But  when  his  hand 
had  closed  upon  it  he  sat  there,  looking  at  her  down- 


230  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

cast  eyes  as  though  waiting  for  a  different  sentence. 
"Perhaps  I  have  been  too  hasty,"  he  suggested 
eagerly.  "This  has  been  in  my  own  heart  so  long 
that  I  forget  it  is  new  to  you.  I  didn't  mean  to  speak 
of  it  tonight.  I  didn't  dream  of  telling  you  now. 
But  this  opportunity  came,  as  though  it  had  been 
made  on  purpose  for  me.  And  you  look  like  a  little 
white  angel  tonight,  Freda.  When  I  found  you  here, 
waiting  for  me  alone — I  couldn't  fight  it  down  any 
longer.  I  had  to  tell  you,  I  had  to  let  you  know  what 
you  have  done  to  my  life.  Have  I  startled  you  too 
much?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,  it  isn't  that,"  she 
answered,  and  now  she  was  looking  at  him  with  eyes 
as  appealing  as  his  own.  "  It  seems — it  seems — al- 
most terrible  to  have  you  care  so  much  for  me.  I'd 
— I'd  rather  not  talk  about  it  any  more — tonight.  I 
don't  think — oh,  I'm  sure  that  I  don't  feel — the  way 
you  want  me  to." 

"We  won't  talk  about  it  any  more  now,"  he  said 
quietly.  "  We  won't  talk  about  it,  but  what  has  hap- 
pened tonight  needn't  make  any  difference  in  our 
friendship,  need  it?" 

"  I  think  it  would.  I'm  afraid  it  would.  I  would 
be  thinking  about  this  now.  When  I  am  with  you,  I 
couldn't  forget  it." 

He  drew  himself  to  his  feet  and  wound  the  delicate 
scarf  about  her  head,  careful  not  to  crush  the  wings 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  231 

of  the  audacious  purple  butterfly.  Then,  while  she 
fumbled  nervously  with  her  white  gloves,  he  turned 
toward  the  hall.  At  the  hat  rack  he  stopped  and 
reached  for  his  heavy  coat.  She  followed,  still  tug- 
ging at  her  gloves,  embarrassed  at  the  deathly  silence 
of  the  house,  which  seemed,  all  at  once,  to  be  suffocat- 
ing her. 

There  was  a  moment  of  uncertainty  while  he  lifted 
down  the  overcoat,  swaying  perilously  upon  his  single 
crutch.  And  then  the  rubber-tipped  prop  slid  treach- 
erously over  the  hardwood  floor  and  Martin  Meggs, 
without  a  cry,  reeled  backward. 

She  caught  him  before  he  fell,  and  leaning  on  her 
young  strength  he  made  the  interminable  journey  back 
to  the  divan.  From  among  the  leather  pillows,  his 
darkening  eyes  looked  up  at  her  with  the  old,  defiant 
smile.  It  smote  her  with  a  pathos  more  poignant 
than  any  groan  that  he  could  have  uttered.  In  that 
instant,  while  she  stood,  looking  down  at  his  helpless- 
ness, all  prudence,  all  caution,  all  thought  of  herself, 
were  swept  aside.  A  self-abnegation  as  exalted  as  it 
was  unconscious  tore  out  of  her  heart  every  other 
emotion.  As  vividly  as  though  the  words  had  been 
emblazoned  upon  the  wall  before  her,  she  read  in 
that  gray  face  the  mandate,  "  Here  is  your  life- 
work." 

And  having  seen  it,  to  obey  was  as  instinctive  as 
to  breathe.  With  the  inarticulate  cry  of  a  mother 


232  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

yearning  over  a  suffering  child,  she  knelt  beside  the 
divan  and  drew  him  into  her  arms. 

"Now   I   know,"   she   whispered.      "Now   I   am 


sure." 


It  seemed  to  her  that,  during  the  next  moments,  the 
love  that  he  poured  out  upon  her  glorified,  as  by  a 
wonderful  magic,  all  the  loneliness  of  the  past  and 
shed  a  warming  light  far  down  the  vista  of  their 
future.  How  could  she  ever  have  dreamed  of  any 
life  but  this?  How  was  it  possible  that  each  of  them 
had  lived  years  unshared  by  the  other? 

"  You  asked  me  once  to  tell  you  where  you  be- 
longed ?  "  he  murmured.  "  And  with  every  nerve  and 
fiber  of  me  I  ached  to  tell  you  then,  to  take  you  into 
my  arms  and  tell  you  where  you  belonged.  But  I 
was  afraid;  I  didn't  dare,  for  fear  that  I  would  lose 
you  altogether.  You  seemed  so  unattainable,  so  far 
away  from  any  thought  of  what  was  in  my  heart." 

"  But  you  told  me  to  burn  my  bridges,"  she  re- 
minded him.  "  You  told  me  that  that  was  the  begin- 
ning of  the  road  to  happiness.  And  now  I  shall  burn 
them — every  one." 

From  among  the  deep  pillows,  he  looked  up  at  her 
with  adoring  eyes.  "  And  you're  not  afraid  to  stand 
with  me  on  my  shaky  bridge?  " 

"  No.  I  hate  my  own  bridges.  They  connect  me 
only  with  things  that  are  unhappy  and  ugly  and 
wretched.  When  the  last  one  of  them  is  gone,  I'll 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  233 

feel  that  I  can  really  live,  that  I  can  begin  to  live.  Oh, 
it  will  be  wonderful!  You  don't  know  how  wonder- 
ful it  is  to  me  to  feel  that  you  really  need  me." 

He  pressed  her  hand  gently  in  that  strong  masterful 
grip  of  his,  which  controlled  with  such  assured  mas- 
tery the  headlong  progress  of  "Gold  Dust."  "I 
wish,"  he  said,  looking  into  the  eyes  that  were  no 
longer  afraid  to  meet  his,  "  I  wish  that  I  could  work 
for  you  as  other  men  work  for  the  women  they  love. 
I  wish  that  by  my  own  efforts  I  could " 

"I  can  provide  things — for  us  both  if  need  be," 
she  told  him  eagerly. 

"  You  shall  not !  "  he  cried  fiercely.  "  Why,  Freda, 
do  you  think- What  can  you  think  that  I  am?  " 

She  flushed,  with  anger  at  herself,  conscious  that 
she  had  stabbed  him  with  the  cruelest  weapon  a 
woman  may  use.  Her  words  had  brought  him  up- 
right on  the  divan,  and  there  was  color  in  his  face 
now.  His  lips  were  set  in  the  tense  line  that  she  had 
come  to  know  so  well. 

"  I  have  nothing,"  he  told  her  passionately,  and  with 
a  sort  of  hopeless  desperation  in  his  voice.  His  gaze 
rested  for  a  moment  upon  the  brilliant  table  in  the 
dining  room,  whose  gleaming  silverware  and  wealth 
of  blossoms  made  a  brave  attempt  to  refute  his  con- 
fession. "  I  am  as  helpless,  as  dependent,  as  a  charity 
orphan." 

She  was  sitting  on  the  end  of  the  divan  beside  him 


234  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

now,  pulling  at  the  threads  of  the  gauzy  scarf. 
"Don't  say  that,"  she  entreated.  "I  can't  bear  to 
hear  you  talk  of  yourself  like  that." 

For  a  moment  he  said  nothing,  but  sat  looking  away 
from  her,  into  the  patch  of  darkness  cut  by  the  broad 
dining  room  window.  When  he  spoke  again,  his 
voice  was  strained  as  it  had  been  in  that  first  passion- 
ate moment  of  confession. 

"  Freda,  I  must  tell  you  something.  I  mustn't  put 
it  off  any  longer.  It's  something  that  you  must 
know." 

She  put  out  her  hand  in  a  quick  little  gesture  of 
protest.  "Is  it — is  it  anything — that  will  hurt?" 

He  did  not  answer. 

"  If  it  is,  don't  tell  me  now,"  she  pleaded.  "  I — 
I  have  something  to  tell  you  too,  but  let's  not  say 
these  things  to  each  other  tonight.  Oh,  don't  spoil — 
this.  Don't  spoil  it.  Let  me  have  this  evening,  in  my 
life,  this  one  evening — perfect." 

"  Freda !  "  He  drew  her  to  him  again  in  a  fiercely 
possessive  embrace.  Then,  in  a  voice  that  was  almost 
a  whisper,  but  vibrant  with  grim  determination,  he 
began  to  speak. 

"  I  told  you  that  I  had  nothing.  It  is  true.  I  can 
offer  you  a  home,  and  many  things  that  make  a 
woman's  life  comfortable  and  happy.  But  these 
things  are  not  mine  by  the  unrestricted  right  of  labor. 
They  come  from  the  hand  of  the  finest  and  the  most 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  235 

fanatical  man  I  ever  knew.  There  is  one  condition 
attached  to  them" 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Freda  did  not  move.  She 
seemed  to  have  stopped  breathing.  He  waited  a  mo- 
ment, then  plunged  on  desperately. 

"  Only  when  you  said  that  you  were  sure  you  cared 
for  me,  could  I  tell  you  this,  Freda.  I  have  tried, 
God !  how  hard  I  have  tried,  to  let  you  go,  to  live  out 
my  life  without  you.  But  today,  when  I  saw  my 
dream  come  true,  when  I  saw  you  here  in  my  house, 
so  much  a  part  of  it,  so  completely " 

"  I  shouldn't  have  come,"  she  said,  speaking  more 
to  herself  than  to  him.  "  But  I  never  thought  of  that. 
I  didn't  think  of  anything,  except  that  it  would  be  a 
pleasure  for  me — and  that  I  would  be  helping  you." 

"  Helping  me,  yes.  That's  just  it.  You  were  help- 
ing me.  The  trouble  is  that  you  have  helped  me  so 
much  that  now  I  can't  get  along  without  your  help. 
I  need  it  all  the  time.  I  must  have  it." 

He  bent  his  head  and  her  radiant  hair  swept  his 
face.  "  Listen,  darling,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "  I  can't 
live  very  long.  I  know  that  it  can't  be  very  long  now. 
This  would  be  only  an  episode  in  your  life.  Out  here, 
we  are  as  isolated  as  though  we  were  on  an  island. 
I  have  no  friends  so  attentive,  so  understanding,  that 
the  loss  of  their  esteem  would  mean  anything  to  me. 
Neither,  I  imagine,  have  you — yet.  The  world's  ap- 
proval isn't  worth  the  price  it  costs.  It  isn't  worth 


236  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

the  sacrifice  of  happiness.  Public  opinion  breaks  the 
hearts  of  people  who  are  not  courageous  enough  to 
defy  it." 

Freda  found  her  voice  at  last.  But  it  was  justice 
for  another,  not  fear  for  herself,  that  made  it  vibrant 
with  reproach. 

"  But  your  uncle !  He  has  done  everything  for  you ! 
You  admit  that  he  has  done  all  he  can  to  make  your 
life  bearable.  You  owe  him  that  much.  Surely,  you 
see  yourself  that  you " 

"  That  much !  "  Martin  Meggs  echoed,  his  voice 
harsh  with  pain.  "  That  much — is  everything/'  His 
face  was  set  in  hard,  defiant  lines.  "  I  wouldn't  care 
what  he  discovered ;  I  wouldn't  care  what  he  thought. 
He  was  in  a  position  to  make  all  the  terms.  I  had 
to  accept  them.  And  when  I  accepted  them  I  didn't 
care.  I  cared  for  nothing  in  the  world,  except  to 
be  free  from  pain.  I  didn't  suppose  I'd  ever  want  to 
marry.  I  hadn't  met  you  then.  But  I  have  kept  the 
letter  of  our  miserable  bargain.  I  would  still  be  keep- 
ing it.  He  would  have  to  admit  that." 

"And  you  wouldn't "  She  felt  for  her  words 

carefully  now,  as  a  surgeon  might  seek  the  implement 
that  would  inflict  the  least  suffering.  "  You  wouldn't 

let  me Oh,  wouldn't  you  let  me — take  his 

place?" 

"Never!" 

The  fierceness  of  his  answer  clenched  his  hand, 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  237 

She  felt  it  grow  rigid.  "  There's  not  much  left  of 
me,  Freda,  but  I  haven't  lost  as  much  as  that.  I 

haven't  lost  all  pride,  all  sense  of  what Oh, 

little  darling,  can't  you  understand  ?  " 

She  drew  a  long  quivering  sigh.  "  Perhaps  I  can 
— in  time,  but  it  seems — a  little  strange." 

"  We've  got  to  face  it,"  he  told  her  sternly.  "  You 
have  said  it  yourself,  Freda.  It  must  be  everything 
— or  nothing.  We  can't  re-establish  things  as  they 
were  before  tonight.  You  say  you  can't  forget  this." 
He  laughed  grimly.  "  Of  course  you  can't.  It  isn't 
in  you  to  forget.  This  thing  stands  between  us  now. 
We've  got  to  accept  it  or  let  it  divide  us  forever. 
You  have  admitted  that — you  care  for  me  a  little. 
Then  there  is — no  one  else,  no  brighter  future  that  I 
will  spoil  for  you?  " 

He  asked  the  question  slowly,  as  though  it  had  long 
been  imprisoned,  and  was  pushing  its  own  way  to  his 
lips.  "There  is  no  one  else,  Freda?" 

A  cold  hand  seemed  to  clutch  for  an  instant  at  her 
throat.  Her  eyes,  staring  into  the  patch  of  blackness 
outside  the  window,  seemed  to  catch  a  sudden,  terrify- 
ing vision  of  a  castle  in  flames.  But  it  must  burn,  she 
told  herself  with  a  dreadful  calmness.  It  was  just  as 
well  that  it  should  burn  and  leave  no  trace  behind  it 
save  a  heap  of  gray  ashes.  For  she  had  never  pos- 
sessed, and  never  could  possess,  the  key  to  its  entrance 
door.  Martin  Meggs  was  waiting  in  tense  silence. 


238  IN  HIGH  GEAR 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  There  is  no  one  else.  But  it 
doesn't  seem  fair  to  me  yet.  About  your  uncle,  I 
mean.  I'm  afraid  that  in  the  end,  that  in  the  end — 
you  would  suffer  for  this — Martin." 

"  That  /  would  suffer !  Is  your  thought  all  for 
me?" 

But  in  her  apprehension  for  him,  he  read  something 
deeper  than  mere  words,  and  with  a  convulsive  gesture 
he  crushed  her  to  his  heart.  It  was  only  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then  his  arm  relaxed. 

"You  mustn't  make  such  a  decision  as  this  all  in 
a  moment !  "  he  cried  sternly.  "  Little  sweetheart,  you 
don't  know  what  you  are  doing !  "  And  then,  as 
fervently  as  he  had  pleaded  his  own  cause,  he  turned 
to  a  passionate  championship  of  hers. 

"  You  would  give  me  your  youth  in  exchange  for 
my  premature  age;  your  health  for  my  weakness; 
your  courage  for  my  despair !  You  would  stake  your 
honor  against  my  happiness.  And  I  would  let  you 
do  it.  I  am  a  man,  and  therefore  a  brute,  and  I  will 
let  you  do  it — if  you  will  do  it !  " 

"  My  youth,"  Freda  said  bitterly.  "  I  haven't  any. 

I  never  had  any,  Martin.  And  honor "  She 

smiled,  a  wan,  tired  little  smile.  "  I  said  that  there 

was  something  I  must  tell  you.     I  think  that  now 
• » 

His  hand  closed  gently  over  hers.  "  There  is  noth- 
ing that  you  have  to  tell  me.  There  is  nothing  that 


IN  HIGH  GEAR  239 

you  might  tell  me  that  could  even  this  score.  Dear 
little  girl,  you  know  the  worst  thing  that  is  to  be  told 
now.  The  very  worst  is  over  between  us,  and 

now " 

He  struggled  to  his  feet  again,  and  she  reached  out 
instinctively  to  help  him,  but  he  pushed  her  gently 
away  from  him.  "  Not  now,"  he  said.  "  You  shall 
not  help  me  now.  Ring  for  William.  Ring  for 
William,  and  tell  him  to  drive  you  home.  And 
tomorrow — tomorrow,  darling — I  shall  send  him  for 
your  answer." 


PART  SIX:   BURNING  BRIDGES 


XII 

A  WEEK  after  Martin  Meggs'  theater  party,  Freda 
made  the  rounds  of  Madame  Peltier's  white-sheeted 
compartments  and  bade  her  associates  there  perfunc- 
tory good-bys.  To  Madam  Peltier's  politely  expressed 
hope  that  she  was  "  bettering  "  herself  by  the  change, 
she  returned  a  coldly  noncommittal  reply.  For  the 
first  time  since  she  had  encountered  them,  she  was 
able  to  return  the  calculating  stare  of  those  polished 
eyes  with  something  of  their  own  insolence. 

But  to  Eileen  and  Glenn  her  farewells  were  inco- 
herent and  broken  by  conflicting  emotions.  Explana- 
tions had  come  readily  enough  to  hand.  Her  decision 
once  made,  the  details  of  its  fulfilment  had  settled 
into  their  places  with  the  adaptability  of  the  heaven- 
ordered. 

It  was  Glenn  who  severed  the  old  order  of  things 
by  discovering,  through  one  of  the  musicians  at  Rad- 
cliffe's  a  boarding  house  whose  living  conditions  and 
location  seemed  ideal,  but  whose  comforts  would  not 
wait  upon  vacillating  plans. 

"  I  gave  that  boarding  house  on  Polk  street  the 
once-over  today,"  she  announced  to  the  other  girls, 
two  days  after  Freda's  evening  at  the  beach.  "A 

243 


244  BURNING  BRIDGES 

Chinese  cook  opened  the  door  when  I  went,  and  if 
there's  anything  that  looks  good  to  me  about  a  place 
like  that,  it's  a  Chink  with  a  white  apron  on.  The 
room's  on  the  third  floor,  not  very  large  but  big  enough 
so  that  I  won't  have  to  keep  my  violin  under  the  bed. 
I  told  the  landlady  I'd  let  her  know  tomorrow,  but 
nothing  doing.  She  hinted  that  she'd  had  to  hire  a 
special  traffic  cop  to  keep  order  among  the  crowd 
of  people  who' re  try  in'  to  get  that  room,  and  pinned 
me  down  for  an  answer.  You  can't  make  the  slightest 
suggestion  about  a  change  of  plan,  in  this  burg,  that 
somebody  doesn't  demand  a  deposit  on  the  idea." 

"  When  are  you  leavin*  us,  Glenn  ? "  Eileen  in- 
quired. She  was  perched  upon  Freda's  bureau-table 
whitening  a  pair  of  kid  pumps. 

"  I  took  it  from  the  first  of  the  month.  That'll  be 
Thursday  of  next  week." 

"  Well,  I  can  get  out  of  here  by  that  time  all  right 
too.  I've  decided  to  accept  that  invitation  of  George's 
married  sister,  and  stay  with  her  for  a  week  or  two 
in  Oakland,  until  I  settle  the  question  of  that  position 
in  the  south.  I  don't  mind  commuting  across  every 
day.  It'll  be  a  change  for  me.  You  still  got  that  idea 
that  you're  goin'  to  throw  the  Madame  over,  Freda, 
and  visit  awhile  with  that  friend  of  yours  out  near 
the  presidio  ?  " 

"  I  have  thrown  Madame  over,"  Freda  answered 
from  her  place  on  the  floor,  where  she  was  sorting 


BURNING  BRIDGES  245 

over  a  pile  of  old  magazines.     "  I  did  it  this  after- 


noon." 


"  When  are  you  goin'  to  leave  her  ?  " 

"  I  have  left  her." 

"  Good-night !  You'll  be  arrested  for  speeding, 
kiddo." 

Freda  smiled  faintly.  Nothing  concerning  the 
step  she  was  about  to  take  had  been  so  hard  for  her 
as  to  deceive  these  girls  who  had  been  so  near  and 
yet  were  so  far  from  her.  Her  love  of  frankness, 
her  hatred  for  any  form  of  insincerity,  had  revolted 
at  the  idea  of  secrecy,  but  Martin  Meggs  had  per- 
suaded her  not  to  make  her  real  position  known  for 
a  time,  and  she  had  yielded  the  point  reluctantly. 
The  girls  agreed  to  communicate  their  later  plans  to 
each  other  through  Glenn,  who  had  the  advantage  of  a 
definite  and  stationary  address. 

Late  Wednesday  afternoon  a  taxi  appeared  at  the 
door  of  the  flat,  and  the  two  girls  helped  carry  Freda's 
things  down  the  long  flight  of  outside  steps.  There 
were  two  suitcases:  the  shabby  rattan  one,  in  which 
she  had  brought  all  her  meager  possessions  to  the 
city,  and  a  new  leather  bag,  which  Glenn  had  helped 
her  select  the  day  before  at  one  of  the  department 
stores. 

When  both  these  were  stored  into  the  waiting 
machine,  Freda  clung  to  her  two  friends  with  a  name- 
less dread  of  parting.  "  You've  been  so  good  to  me !  " 


246  BURNING  BRIDGES 

she  cried,  staring  over  Eileen's  shoulder,  through  a 
mist  of  tears,  at  the  bleak  little  house  whose  ugliness 
had  eaten  into  her  soul,  but  which  had  been  home. 
"  You've  been  so  good  to  me  and  I'm  not  being  just 
fair.  I'm  not " 

"Well,  we  ain't  dead  yet,  Freda,"  Eileen  com- 
forted. "  You  ain't  gettin'  rid  of  us  for  good.  Why,. 
I'm  likely  to  crop  up  again,  for  better  or  for  worse, 

most  any  time.    And  about  bein'  fair Say,  kiddo, 

you've  given  me  about  all  the  real  education  I  ever 
had." 

Glenn's  handshake  was  characteristically  satisfy- 
ing. "  We'll  get  together  again  before  long,"  she 
prophesied.  "  It's  in  the  cards." 

As  the  taxi  turned  the  corner  and  started  upon  its 
long  uphill  climb,  Freda  leaned  back  and  closed  her 
eyes.  The  little  scene  which  she  had  just  left  vanished 
with  the  magical  celerity  of  a  screen  drama.  Her 
brain  seemed  to  have  no  room  for  anything  now  but 
Martin  Meggs.  His  care  of  her,  his  thoughtful  ar- 
rangement of  every  detail  of  her  coming,  his  consid- 
eration for  her  comfort,  his  unspoken  comprehension 
of  feelings  which  she  had  scarcely  unveiled  to  herself ; 
these  things  flooded  her  heart  and  drowned  every 
other  emotion. 

'  Tell  me,  is  it  only  pity  that  brings  you  to  me  ?  " 
In  the  first  note  that  he  had  written  her  after  that 
momentous  evening,  he  put  that  question  to  her.  It 


BURNING  BRIDGES  247 

was  almost  all  that  the  note  had  contained,  and  she 
knew  that,  with  all  the  pride  of  his  man's  nature,  he 
would  renounce  any  sacrifice  made  in  that  odious 
name.  "If  it  is  just  pity,  Freda,  if  it  is  only  that, 
it  would  be  a  miserable  bargain,  which  couldn't  bring 
happiness  to  either  of  us.  There  must  be  something 
else,  something  that  will  justify  it  for  you  and  glorify 
it  for  me." 

And  she  had  assured  him  that  there  was.  If  she 
had  been  uncertain  of  her  feeling  for  him  in  the  first 
moments  of  that  tense,  thrilling  evening,  his  cham- 
pionship of  her  cause,  his  stupendous  effort  to  put 
away  from  him  the  thing  that  he  wanted,  to  consider 
her  sacrifice  before  his  need,  had  set  the  final  seal  upon 
her  conviction  that  she  loved  him. 

Gratitude,  a  gratitude  that  was  almost  like  a  prayer, 
enveloped  her.  "  I  ought  to  be  grateful !  I  ought  to 
be  so  grateful ! "  Unconsciously  she  was  using  the 
very  words  that  Margaret  Bayne  had  used,  long 
years  ago,  when  she  had  staked  all  her  happiness  upon 
the  man  who  offered  her  the  gift  of  his  love  wrapped 
in  an  inscrutably  sealed  package. 

"  Why  did  I  ever  hesitate  ?  "  Freda  asked  herself 
now.  Why  had  she  hesitated  on  that  night  after  her 
decorous  drive  home  with  William  in  the  starlight? 
Why  had  she  not  accepted  without  a  moment's  uncer- 
tainty the  great  gift  of  this  man's  love?  Surely  she 
had  had  evidence  enough  that  there  was  nothing  more 


248  BURNING  BRIDGES 

golden  in  store  for  her.  And  what  right  had  she,  a 
Bayne,  to  demand  of  life  its  most  perfect  fruit?  She 
knew  that  countless  people  all  around  her  had  mar- 
ried, and  were  living  out  their  lives,  on  far  less  than 
what  Martin  Meggs  had  showered  upon  her.  The 
divorce  courts  were  voluble  with  evidence  of  the 
pitiful  failure  of  marriage.  She  thought  of  the  love- 
less union  of  her  own  parents,  and  shuddered.  To 
her,  who  had  done  nothing  to  deserve  it,  had  come 
love,  all-engulfing  love — a  lover  who  needed  her.  At 
last  after  all  the  years  of  pent-up  emotion,  there  was 
some  one  now  whose  very  life  depended  upon  her  care, 
her  understanding  sympathy.  And  for  these  things, 
these  soul-warming,  life-giving  things,  life  asked  only 
the  price  which,  ever  since  the  days  of  her  childhood, 
she  had  known  that  women  give — for  an  evening's 
diversion,  or  a  new  gown.  And  in  giving  it  she  had 
nothing  to  lose.  No  family  tradition  would  quiver  on 
its  rock-built  foundation ;  no  proud  family  name  would 
go  down,  dishonored  to  the  dust.  Of  all  people  in 
the  world,  she  had  the  best  right  to  make  this  decision. 
It  was  really  not  a  thing  of  her  own  making;  it  had 
been  made  for  her  long  ago  by  some  one  else. 

She  had  not  seen  Martin  Meggs  since  the  night  of 
the  vacant  banquet  table.  But  he  had  written  to  her 
many  notes  in  response  to  hers.  She  took  the  last 
one  from  her  bag  now  and  read  it  over  again.  "  I 
shall  not  come  for  you  myself,"  it  ended.  "For  if, 


BURNING  BRIDGES  249 

at  the  last  moment,  you  should  change  your  mind, 
you  would  feel  impelled  to  come  if  I  were  there 
waiting." 

And  at  the  gate  he  was  not  waiting.  A  Japanese 
servant  came  out  to  bring  in  her  things.  But  when  he 
and  the  taxi  driver  had  vanished,  and  she  started  up 
the  curving  front  walk,  Martin  Meggs  appeared  on  the 
porch  of  the  bungalow.  With  a  long,  yearning  gesture, 
he  put  his  arm  about  her  and  drew  her  close,  whisper- 
ing huskily,  "  May  God  desert  me,  darling,  if  I  ever 
make  you  regret  this  day." 

Together  they  went  into  the  house  and  found  it 
fragrant  with  welcoming  blossoms.  In  the  open  court 
at  the  rear,  a  flowering  peach  tree  was  in  bloom,  and 
from  the  narrow  beds  that  bordered  three  sides  of  the 
inclosure,  hyacinths  sent  up  their  heavy  languorous 
incense.  "  There's  always  a  warm  spell  in  March, 
you  know,"  Martin  Meggs  said,  in  a  light,  casual  tone, 
calculated  to  set  her  at  ease.  "  And  when  it  conies, 
we  can  have  some  of  our  lunches  out  here.  Tokido 
is  a  good  cook  (according  to  his  own  estimate),  so 
you  can  spend  little  or  much  time  with  him  as  you 
please." 

They  had  traversed  the  court  now  and  he  opened 
for  her  the  door  of  a  room  on  the  wing  opposite  his. 
She  had  only  been  in  it  once  before,  on  that  Sunday 
afternoon,  that  now  seemed  so  remote,  when  Marcia 
Judson  had  taken  her  through  the  house.  It  was  a 


250  BURNING  BRIDGES 

dainty  maple-and-blue  room,  with  gay  little  chairs 
upholstered  in  cretonne.  In  the  midst  of  its  bright 
freshness,  the  old  rattan  suitcase,  which  Tokido  had 
set  beside  the  bed,  looked  pitifully  out  of  its  element. 
Under  one  of  the  windows  was  the  new  leather  one 
that  she  had  bought  only  yesterday.  Freda  went  to 
this  window  and  snapped  up  the  shade  with  a  nervous 
twitch.  She  found  it  impossible  to  look  at  the  man 
standing  in  the  open  doorway.  Then  his  voice  came 
to  her.  It  was  low,  but  it  carried  easily. 

"  This  is  to  be  your  room,  Freda.  Just  yours.  I 
want  you  to  feel  that  it  is — that  you  will  be  free  from 
any  intrusion.  I  want  you  to  take  your  own  time 
about  getting  used  to  things.  Do  you  understand  me  ?  " 

She  nodded,  still  looking  out  at  the  patch  of  blue 
water  beyond  the  low,  sage-covered  hills.  Then  she 
heard  his  crutches  on  the  rug  behind  her  and  turned 
to  see  him  holding  something  between  his  ringers, 
something  that  flashed  as  the  light  from  the  window 
fell  upon  it.  He  felt  for  her  hand.  "Freda,"  he 
said,  "  this  was  my  mother's.  When  she  died,  she 
gave  it  to  me  and  told  me  never  to  part  with  it  until 
I  found  the  girl  whom  I  was  sure  could  make  me 
happy.  This  is  a  ceremony,  dear."  He  slipped  the 
band  of  tiny  chip  diamonds  on  her  finger  and  kissed 
her.  A  moment  later  the  Chinese  gong  rang  out  its 
summons  from  the  dining  room. 

As  Freda  took  her  place  opposite  Martin  Meggs  at 


BURNING  BRIDGES  251 

the  round  table,  she  thrilled  with  her  first  sense  of 
possession.  It  was  from  her  that  Tokido  awaited  his 
orders,  she  who  served  the  vegetables  in  the  silver- 
covered  dishes,  and  who  sent  the  carver  out  to  the 
kitchen  to  be  sharpened. 

When  they  had  finished  dinner  she  lingered  a 
moment  to  confer  with  the  Japanese  concerning 
breakfast,  and  then  followed  Martin  Meggs  to  the 
den  where  the  last  of  the  pine  cones  were  being  sacri- 
ficed in  her  honor.  "  You're  going  to  smoke,  aren't 
you?  "  she  asked,  and  set  the  pipe  and  ash  tray  on  the 
broad  arm  of  his  chair. 

"  No,  not  now,"  he  answered,  and  drew  her  down 
beside  him,  pushing  the  intervening  crutches  to  the 
floor. 

"  Promise  me  something,  Martin." 

"  Anything." 

"  That  you'll  never  try  to  use  just  one  crutch  again. 
It  frightens  me,  it  frightens  me  terribly  to  see  you 
do  it." 

"  I   only  did   it  that  night  because   I   wanted  to 


seem " 


"  I  know,"  she  interposed  hastily.  "  But  you  don't 
have  to  seem  any  more.  It  makes  my  heart  ache  to 
see  you  under  such  a  strain." 

"You  sha'n't  have  the  heartache,  not  if  I  can  help 
it.  But,  darling,  you  don't  know  what  it  means  to 
me  to  have  you  care,  to  have  you  afraid  of  my  being 


252  BURNING  BRIDGES 

hurt.  That  Sunday  at  San  Mateo,  I  could  have  killed 
myself.  I  think  I  would  have  killed  myself  if  you 
hadn't  been  there.  The  hopelessness  of  it  all,  the 
despair,  the  desert  of  future  stretching  out  ahead- 
nobody  can  understand  who  hasn't  been  through  it, 
who  hasn't  been  cowed  by  pain  and  the  dread  of  pain. 
I  tried  to  brazen  it  out  because  I  couldn't  bear  to 
weaken  before  you.  But  in  the  end  I  had  to  take  it, 
the  stuff  that  has  been  righting  for  months  to  make  a 
slave  of  me.  I  loathe  myself  when  I  yield  to  it,  and 
I  seldom  do  yield.  But  I  have  nothing  else — I  had 
nothing  else.  Now  it  will  be  different.  We'll  fight  it 
out  together,  sweetheart,  and  I'll  die  at  last,  as  I've 
never  lived, — like  a  man." 

"  Don't !  "  she  cried  in  terror,  and  pressed  his  hand 
to  her  heart.  "  Don't  talk  like  that,  Martin.  You'll 
break  my  heart !  " 

"You  mean  that,  Freda?"  he  breathed.  "You 
mean  that  it  would  ?  " 

"  You  must  know  that  it  would — dear." 

"  I  ought  to  die  now,"  he  murmured.  "  For  this  is 
the  happiest  moment  of  my  life." 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  something,"  Freda  said  after 
a  long  minute  of  silence.  "  I  wanted  to  ask  you  on 
that  night — last  week — but  I  couldn't.  Now " 

"  Now  you  can  ask  me  anything." 

"  It's  this ;  you  told  me  once  that  you  had  been  to 
Four  Corners,  that  you  had  stayed  there  a  week.  It's 


BURNING  BRIDGES  253 

hardly  possible  that  you  could  have  been  there  that 
long  without — and  not —  Did  someone  tell  you 
about " 

"  I  know  what  you  mean/'  he  interrupted  hastily. 
'  Yes,  I  heard  some  gossip;  all  the  gossip  of  the  place, 
I  suppose.  But  it  never  occurred  to  me  again  until 
after  I  had  asked  you  about  your  home.  It  came  to 
me  that  night,  afterwards,  and  I  could  have  cut  my 
tongue  out." 

"  I  wanted  you  to  know,  Martin.  I'm  glad  you 
know." 

"Well,  don't  talk  about  it.  Don't  ever  mention  it 
again.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  you  in  an  atmosphere 
like  that." 

Tokido,  coming  in  a  few  minutes  later  with  an 
armful  of  wood,  found  them  at  the  library  table  with 
the  cribbage  board  between  them.  As  he  knelt  to 
replenish  the  fire,  the  telephone  bell  rang  through  the 
room.  "  I'll  go,"  Freda  said,  and  laid  down  her  hand. 

"  No,"  Martin  ordered  sharply.  "  I  don't  want  you 
to  answer  the  'phone.  Let  it  ring.  I  don't  care  to  talk 
to  anybody." 

"But  I  can't  bear  to  hear  it  ring  and  ring,"  she 
protested.  "  It  might  be  something  important.  Please 
let  me  go." 

"  I'll  go  myself  if  it  makes  you  nervous,  dear." 
When  he  hobbled  back  a  moment  later  his  face  was 
dark  as  a  thundercloud,  "  It's  my  doctor.  He  was 


254  BURNING  BRIDGES 

'phoning  to  say  that  he  wanted  to  come  out.  He  said 
he  wanted  particularly  to  see  me.  There  was  no  ex- 
cuse I  could  offer.  He's  a  friend  of  my  uncle's  and 
a  privileged  character.  I  told  him  I  would  come  in  to 
him  instead.  If  I  don't  go,  he'll  come.  But  it  won't 
take  me  long,  perhaps  an  hour.  If  you're  frightened 
you  can  drive  in  with  me  and " 

"  Of  course  I'm  not  frightened.  I've  been  left  alone 
in  a  place  a  thousand  times  more  isolated  than  this, 

but "  She  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  But 

why  don't  you  let  him  come  out,  Martin?  Why  not 
tonight  as  well  as  any  other  time?  " 

"  No !  "  he  cried,  and  looked  down  at  her  with 
swift  alarm. 

"  But,  Martin,  why  ?  I  have  chosen  you  with  my 
eyes  open,  and  I  am  not  a  coward." 

"  No,  by  God,  you're  not !  You're  the  bravest, 
sweetest —  But  not  tonight,  dearest.  This  is  my 
night." 

She  yielded  with  a  little  sigh,  and  went  with  him 
out  to  where  "  Gold  Dust "  waited  in  the  moonlight. 
"  I  won't  be  long,"  he  assured  her  again.  "  But  don't 
stay  up  if  you're  tired,  dear." 

When  he  had  gone,  she  went  slowly  back  to  the 
house.  But  the  little  den  seemed  desolate  and  empty. 
She  wandered  through  the  dining  room  and  down  the 
little  hallway.  Her  own  room  was  more  compan- 
ionable. When  she  had  lighted  it  and  locked  the 


BURNING  BRIDGES  255 

court  door,  she  slipped  into  a  warm  negligee  and  began 
unpacking  her  things. 

The  ample  closet  space,  which  Miss  Marcia  had 
provided,  was  a  superlative  luxury  in  itself.  With 
leisurely  delight  she  investigated  it  and  hung  up  her 
clothes,  finding  an  unexpected  pleasure  in  the  mere 
selecting  of  hooks. 

There  were  some  books  in  the  box  which  had 
come  with  the  suitcases,  but  she  decided  not  to  unpack 
these  until  morning,  when  she  and  Martin  could  ar- 
range them  on  the  shelves  in  the  den.  One  she  had 
tucked  into  her  bag,  a  new  collection  of  stories  by  Stan- 
ford Spence,  which  she  had  bought  the  day  before  at 
the  "  Booklover's."  But  when  the  empty  suitcases  had 
been  stored  away  in  the  closet  and  she  settled  herself 
in  one  of  the  luxurious  cretonne-covered  chairs  beside 
the  blue-shaded  reading  lamp,  she  found  it  impossible 
to  read.  Life  was  too  strong  a  competitor  for  mere 
literature.  There  was  too  much  to  think  of,  about 
and  through. 

She  pushed  aside  the  book  and  let  down  her  hair 
before  the  dresser  which  Martin  Meggs  had  stocked 
with  all  sorts  of  costly  toilet  articles. 

"  I  don't  know  what  half  of  these  things  are  for," 
he  had  confessed,  standing  beside  the  little  dresser 
while  she  took  off  her  hat  and  wrap.  "  But  I've  often 
looked  at  things  like  these  in  the  store  windows  and 
longed  to  buy  them  for  a  woman.  They  may  not  be 


256  BURNING  BRIDGES 

what  you  like  at  all,  but  they  looked  dainty  and  mys- 
terious— like  you.  You  don't  mind  my  getting  them 
for  you,  do  you  ?  " 

He  had  asked  the  question  wistfully,  looking  down 
at  her  from  between  his  two  supporting  crutches.  Now 
as  she  gazed  at  them,  a  sudden  mist  swam  before  her 
eyes  and  through  it  the  cut  glass  bottles,  with  their 
green  and  amber  contents,  danced  grotesquely.  They 
brought  her  a  sudden  feeling  of  despondency  and 
loneliness.  She  wished  that  she  had  not  let  him  go 
away,  that  she  had  insisted  upon  the  doctor's  coming 
out.  Was  there  no  moment  of  life  so  vital,  so  all- 
engrossing,  that  she  might  have  it,  uninterrupted  by 
the  incessant  demands  of  petty  emergencies? 

She  felt  a  longing  for  the  soothing  touch  of  dark; 
ness.  The  room,  with  its  too  brilliant  illumination, 
seemed  garish.  Hurriedly  she  finished  undressing 
and  slipped  into  bed,  snapping  off  the  light  on  the 
little  reading  table  beside  her  pillow.  As  night  blotted 
out  the  objects  in  the  room  she  drew  a  tired  sigh  and 
closed  her  eyes.  It  had  been  a  hard  day,  a  hard  week, 
but  in  the  mental  turmoil  of  it  all  she  had  not  realized 
the  full  measure  of  its  physical  strain.  Soon  it  would 
be  time  to  listen  for  the  purr  of  "  Gold  Dust's  "  engine 
as  Martin  Meggs  turned  in  at  the  garage.  But  for  a 
time  there  would  be  rest  and  utter  stillness. 

But  there  was  no  thought  of  sleep.  That  militant 
form  of  weariness,  which  will  not  be  soothed,  but 


BURNING  BRIDGES  257 

piles  upon  the  brain  a  feverish  load  of  irrelevant  de- 
tail, possessed  her  now.  Her  mind  wandered  back 
over  the  past,  and  an  endless  succession  of  pictures 
filed  before  her  eyes.  How  hard  had  been  the  years, 
how  unlovely,  how  unspeakably  lonely!  Now  that 
they  were  over  and  their  days  dead,  past  all  power  of 
brutal  resurrection,  she  found  herself  wondering  how 
she  had  ever  endured  them.  Surely  no  future  years 
could  bring  anything  so  intolerable.  This  was  the 
moment  of  crisis  when  fortune,  grown  suddenly  re- 
pentant, had  loosed  the  strings  of  her  miserly  purse 
and  was  counting  out  gold  pieces  to  her. 

She  unclosed  her  eyes  to  rest  them  against  the 
blankness  of  night.  Accustomed  to  the  darkness  now, 
they  found  the  room  no  longer  veiled  in  impenetrable 
blackness,  but  in  dim  shadow.  The  wall  of  windows 
on  the  sheltered  side  of  the  room  were  all  open  and  a 
fresh  breeze  from  the  ocean  stirred  the  curtains  with 
a  softly  caressing  touch.  It  was,  as  Miss  Marcia  had 
said,  an  elaborated  sleeping  porch.  Freda  found  her- 
self wishing  that  it  were  not  quite  so  luxurious,  that 
the  little  bungalow  were  less  eloquent  of  lavish  ex- 
penditure. If  only  Martin  could  be  made  to  see  that 
these  little  things,  these  comforts,  luxuries  which  he 
offered  with  such  eagerness,  as  a  measure  of  compen- 
sation to  her,  and  a  balm  to  his  own  pride,  were  not 
the  things  for  which  she  cared.  He  must  come  to  see 
that  in  time;  she  was  sure  that  he  would.  If  he  loved 


258  BURNING  BRIDGES 

her  so  much,  he  would  surely  be  willing  to  submit  in 
the  end  to  her  wish.  They  could  be  married,  could 
take  a  plainer  little  home  somewhere,  a  little  home 
which  she  could  finance.  The  profession  which  she 
had  come  to  hate  would,  at  last,  prove  their  salvation. 
She  knew  that  as  a  visiting  hairdresser  she  could  find 
a  large  patronage  among  the  wealthiest  of  Madame 
Peltier's  patrons.  Many  of  them  had  asked  her  why 
she  did  not  seek  such  professional  independence.  As 
the  days  passed  and  Martin  felt  her  more  and  more  a 
part  of  his  life,  she  felt  certain  that  she  could  gradually 
enter  this  wedge,  which  should  pry  loose  the  fingers 
clutching,  for  her  sake,  at  these  material  luxuries. 
And  in  the  meantime — neither  of  them  was  being 
false  to  any  one  else.  Both  of  them  were  free.  Their 
present  position  was  harming  no  one.  Ah,  that  would 
be  unthinkable,  to  seek  their  own  happiness  at  the  ex- 
pense of  some  one  else. 

Moonlight  filtered  in  through  the  vines  of  the  court 
and  filled  the  room  with  its  ghostly,  unwarming  light. 
On  the  chair  near  the  dressing  table  an  oblong  white 
object  cut  a  patch  out  of  the  darkness.  Freda's  eyes 
rested  speculatively  upon  it.  She  could  not  quite  make 
out  its  identity.  With  that  mute  irritating  power  of  in- 
animate objects,  it  returned  her  gaze,  holding  her  eyes 
while  it  defied  them.  She  threw  back  the  covers  at  last 
and,  without  turning  on  the  light,  glided  across  the 
room  and  held  the  patch  of  white  under  the  moonlight. 


BURNING  BRIDGES  259 

It  was  a  small  white  apron;  a  limp,  impassive  little 
apron,  that  had  once  been  gay  with  blue  forget-me- 
nots  and  lace-tipped  ruffle.  Its  youth  was  long  ago 
now,  but  she  had  treasured  it  as  the  one  bit  of  dainti- 
ness bequeathed  to  her  by  Mother,  with  the  shabby 
suitcase.  It  brought  back  a  rush  of  memories  that 
held  her  there  at  the  window,  unmindful  of  the  cool, 
salt  air.  She  lived  over  again  that  wonderful  evening 
of  her  first  party  at  the  Four  Corners  high  school. 
She  recalled,  as  though  it  had  been  yesterday,  Mother's 
worn  face,  lighted  with  a  gaiety,  which  she  knew  now 
had  been  simulated  for  her  sake.  Mother,  waving 
Doris  Hartwell's  dainty  apron  at  her  as  she  circled 
the  hall  with  her  partner,  seemed  now  an  infinitely 
pathetic  figure,  and  that  mute  gesture  might  have  been 
a  farewell  from  the  brink  of  eternity. 

Memories  became  chaotic  and  without  sequence 
now.  "  Apron-string  girl !  "  The  derisive  title,  hurled 
at  her  by  the  young  people  of  Rocky  Cove,  that 
opprobrious  insinuation  that  she  was  "  different " 
from  the  rest,  which  had  been  the  unvoiced  tragedy 
of  her  childhood,  seemed  now,  as  she  looked  back 
upon  it,  the  safe,  happy  haven  out  of  which  she 
had  suddenly  embarked  upon  a  stormy,  uncharted 
sea. 

"  Always  be  good,  Freddy.  It  pays  to  be  good — 
and  nothing  else  does !  "  The  words  fell  upon  her  like 
pelting  hailstones  out  of  a  cloudless  sky. 


26o  BURNING  BRIDGES 

Of  all  the  associations  that  the  dead  leave  behind 
them,  the  garments  they  have  worn  recall  them  to 
us  with  the  crudest  intimacy.  The  framed  pictures 
that  hang  above  our  beds,  become  in  time  only  the 
treasured  illustrations  of  a  chapter  that  is  ended.  The 
books,  marked  by  vanished  hands,  the  yellowing  let- 
ters, the  furnishings  that  stocked  a  life — all  these 
fit,  at  last,  into  the  shadowy  mosaic  of  the  years, 
years  expressed  in  that  irrevocably  pluperfect  tense, 
which  signifies  action  forever  completed.  But  come 
suddenly  upon  a  pair  of  wrinkled  gloves,  a  familiar 
hat,  a  gown  once  beloved!  Before  the  necromancy 
of  these,  the  past  is  quickened  into  throbbing  an- 
guished life.  "  It  cannot  be!  "  we  cry.  "  It  cannot, 
cannot  be ! " 

A  wild  longing  surged  over  the  girl,  a  longing  that 
swept  aside  the  intervening  years  as  though  they  had 
never  been,  and  made  her  mother's  tragic  death  and 
ghastly  funeral  things  of  yesterday.  But  it  was  not 
the  grimness  of  these  that  dominated  her  thought. 
Memories  of  her  mother's  life,  so  much  more  cruel 
than  her  death,  haunted  her  now  with  an  aching  per- 
sistence. All  at  once  that  barrier  of  relationship, 
which  forever  blinds  the  eyes  of  the  living,  fell  away. 
She  saw  Margaret  Bayne,  not  as  her  mother,  but  as 
another  woman,  a  woman  detached  from  her,  and  yet 
fighting  for  her  with  all  the  tensity  of  her  ardent  soul. 
Incidents  of  her  own  childhood,  trivial  and  long  for- 


BURNING  BRIDGES  261 

gotten,  flashed  before  her  now,  vivid  with  new  signifi- 
cance, like  discarded  objects  freshly  painted.  Mother's 
endless  struggle  against  the  degrading  elements  of 
their  surroundings,  her  eager  groping  after  the  fine, 
her  instinctive  determination  to  raise  into  the  light 
whatever  those  groping  hands  fell  upon — these  were 
the  memories  which  crowded  upon  her  now  as  she 
looked  backward  over  the  years.  And  the  futility  of 
the  struggle!  The  defeat  at  last  of  Mother's  desper- 
ately contrived  plans  for  her,  the  utter  collapse  of  the 
man  to  whom  she  had  clung — these  things  were  too 
bitter  for  tears.  With  a  blind  unreasoning  fury,  that 
seemed  to  scorch  her  own  soul,  she  hurled  her  fierce 
anathema  against  life,  all  life:  against  its  derisive  in- 
justice, its  contemptuous  disregard  of  heroism,  its 
haphazard  system  of  reward,  and  the  unbelievable 
indifference  of  the  Providence  that  was  supposed  to 
direct  its  course.  In  the  chaos  of  her  whirling  emo- 
tions, she  told  herself  that  there  was  nothing  worth 
while  in  all  the  universe;  no  sacrifice  worth  its  cost, 
no  suffering  that  brought  forth  fruit. 

She  folded  the  faded  apron  and  laid  it  away  in  one 
of  the  bureau  drawers.  But  when  she  had  crept  back 
to  bed  and  was  settled  again  in  its  comforting  warmth, 
she  was  not  satisfied  with  its  disposal.  There  was 
something  almost  like  sacrilege  about  intrusting  it  to 
that  bureau  drawer.  That  belonged  to  this  new  life, 
a  life  that  could  have  nothing  in  common  with  the 


262  BURNING  BRIDGES 

old.  She  got  up  again,  dragged  the  suitcase  out  of  the 
closet  and  put  the  strip  of  linen  into  its  shabby  keeping. 
But  after  that  she  felt  no  inclination  to  go  back  to  bed. 

She  possessed  no  picture  of  her  mother.  But  the 
limp,  impassive  little  apron  had  showered  her  with 
them;  pictures  of  the  commonplace,  the  familiar,  the 
unembellished,  and  of  such  as  these  no  portrait  or 
miniature  painter  has  ever  caught  the  knack. 

How  long  she  sat  there  in  the  dark  beside  the  lavish 
dressing  table  she  never  knew.  But  all  at  once  she 
caught  herself  listening  nervously  for  the  sound  of  a 
machine.  What  if  he  should  come  now  before  she 
had  decided  ?  For  to  her  weary  brain  had  come  a  slow 
realization  that  all  the  doubts  and  problems  and  con- 
jectures which  she  had  thought  at  rest  must  be  roused 
and  counted  over  again.  And  she  realized,  too,  that 
in  Martin  Meggs'  presence,  in  the  presence  of  those 
traitorous  crutches,  only  one  decision  was  possible. 
She  was  sure  that  she  had  never  chosen  a  course  in 
which  thought  of  self  had  played  so  small  a  part,  as 
in  the  resolve  which  had  brought  her  here.  She 
spread  her  motives  out  before  her  like  a  handful  of 
beads  and  scanned  them  with  coldly  critical  eyes. 
Compassion,  the  instinctive  impulse  to  save  and  to 
comfort,  a  yearning  maternalism ;  could  it  be  possible, 
could  it  be  credible  that  life  might  turn  the  gold  of 
such  armor  into  the  base  weapons  of  destruction? 

This  man,  whose  every  thought  was  for  her,  but 


BURNING  BRIDGES  263 

whose  stern  code  forbade  him  to  accept  her  sacrifice  if 
he  relinquished  his  claim  upon  those  things  which  he 
counted  a  woman's  compensation, — loneliness,  pain,  a 
dolor  unutterable,  had  made  him  a  pitiable  man — but 
never  a  bad  one.  And  she  was  to  be  the  prop  of  his 
existence.  Not  his  crutches,  not  the  wheel  chair,  were 
more  essential  to  his  existence  now  than  was  she. 

It  was  too  late.  She  might  have  refused  to  come 
had  not  something  stronger  than  self-preservation 
swept  her  off  her  feet.  He  had  given  her  every  op- 
portunity. But  his  very  defense  of  her  cause  had 
forged  the  final  link  that  bound  her  to  him.  Every 
disadvantage  which  he  had  piled  upon  her  side  of  the 
scale  had  only  served  to  make  his  own  need  rise  to 
more  exalted  levels.  Self-abnegation,  at  the  other  end 
of  the  spiritual  measure  from  venal  motives,  how  could 
it  lead  her  astray !  The  high  idealism,  that  would  have 
recoiled  in  horror  from  an  offer  of  wealth  or  of  pleas- 
ure in  any  of  its  varicolored  costumes,  had  capitu- 
lated, almost  without  a  struggle,  to  the  cry  of  desolate 
pain. 

And  now,  like  a  dry  flame  searing  her  brain,  came 
the  sound  of  Eileen's  cynical  words,  "What  would 
be  too  strong  a  temptation  for  me  wouldn't  be  enough 
for  you,  but  something  else  would/' 

She  winced  at  that  term  "  temptation."  She  had 
never  thought  of  it  before  in  that  guise.  To  her  it 
had  appeared  in  the  stern  but  glorious  garments  of 


264  BURNING  BRIDGES 

duty,  and  in  its  presence  all  material  obstructions  had 
seemed  to  shrink  out  of  the  way.  She  had  not  been 
afraid  of  her  course  nor  ashamed  of  it.  Her  friends 
should  know  about  it  as  soon  as  Martin  released  his 
jealous  guardianship  of  the  secret,  and  yielded  to  her 
carefully  devised  plans. 

Now  suddenly  the  scene  had  changed.  She  had 
a  dim  but  terrified  vision  of  her  father  and  mother  in 
furious  combat.  They  seemed  to  be  fighting  for  her, 
and  she,  in  whose  blood  ran  weak  compliance  with 
impulse,  watched  the  struggle  like  the  fascinated  spec- 
tator to  a  street  accident. 

It  may  have  been  minutes,  it  may  have  been  half  an 
hour  later,  that  she  found  herself  writing,  with  the 
stump  of  a  pencil,  on  the  blank  flyleaf  torn  from 
Stanford  Spence's  book  of  stories. 

"  I  can't  do  it,  Martin.  After  all  I  promised  you, 
I  can't  do  it.  I  cannot  desecrate  your  mother's  ring 
and  make  my  mother's  whole  life  a  bitter  failure. 
When  you  asked  me,  you  felt,  knowing  my  story,  that 
I  could  do  it  because  I  am  my  father's  daughter,  and 
I  felt  that  I  could  too.  Oh,  poor  suffering  heart,  I  am 
not  blaming  you;  I  shall  never  blame  you.  But  we 
have  both  made  a  mistake,  dear,  a  terrible  mistake. 
We  thought  that  an  evil  heritage  would  be  strong 
enough  to  make  me  do  this  thing  and  to  excuse  it.  But 
oh,  it  isn't !  It  isn't !  For  beside  the  strength  of  good- 
ness, the  weakness  of  evil  is  as  nothing,  as  nothing  at 


BURNING  BRIDGES  265 

all.  It  tears  the  heart  out  of  me  to  leave  you  now, 
Martin.  But  something  stronger  than  I  am  is  forcing 
me  to  do  it.  Be  brave.  It  won't  be  harder  for  you 
to  suffer  than  for  me  to  know  that  you  are  suffering." 

She  folded  the  paper  and  laid  it  on  the  maple  dress- 
ing table  among  the  sparkling  cut-glass  bottles.  He 
would  find  it  in  the  morning.  It  was  too  cruel  a  blow 
to  deal  him  in  the  dark. 

And  then  she  stood  at  the  mirror,  between  the  two 
packed  suitcases,  pinning  on  her  hat  with  unsteady 
fingers.  Her  future  was  in  the  hands  of  fate  now. 
If  "  Gold  Dust "  came  before  the  hastily  summoned 
taxi,  she  would  tear  that  letter  into  fragments. 
Before  her  on  one  side  stretched  a  white,  shadeless 
desert,  and  on  the  other  the  warm,  sustaining  cheer  of 
love  and  a  life  work.  And  she  had  chosen  between 
them.  Fate  must  do  the  rest. 

She  carried  the  suitcase  into  the  unlighted  dining 
room  and  drew  aside  the  curtain,  watching  as  she  had 
watched  on  the  fatal  night  of  the  theater  party,  for  the 
lights  of  a  machine.  A  cold  numbness  seized  her.  She 
felt  suddenly  indifferent  to  the  course  of  life.  A 
weariness  that  was  like  dull-edged  pain  possessed  her. 

Around  the  curve  of  the  ribbon  of  boulevard,  the 
glare  of  a  machine  flashed  through  the  darkness.  It 
seemed  to  beckon  and  then  to  wave  her  back.  An  in- 
stant later  there  was  another  light.  The  first  machine 
was  slowing  down,  as  though  uncertain  of  its  course. 


266  BURNING  BRIDGES 

The  second  swept  past  it  and  the  sound  of  its  purring 
engine  came  distinctly  now  over  the  quiet  intervening 
blocks. 

Freda  stood  there  watching,  cold  as  a  statue.  The 
first  car  seemed  to  take  courage  from  the  assurance 
of  the  second.  It  quickened  its  gait  and  its  lights  grew 
larger  as  it  took  the  outside  of  the  curve  of  the  road. 
All  at  once  the  first  machine  reached  the  house,  and 
passed  on.  Then  Freda  picked  up  the  shabby  suitcase 
and  the  other,  and  carried  them  out  to  the  waiting  taxi. 

XIII 

THE  hotel  to  which  Freda  directed  the  taxi  driver 
was  a  shabby  little  uptown  hostelry  where  she  and 
her  mother  had  stayed  on  the  first  night  of  their  visit 
to  the  city.  Here  the  clerk,  after  a  briefly  appraising 
glance,  assigned  her  to  the  guidance  of  a  laconic  bell- 
boy who  carried  the  suitcases  to  a  complacent  looking 
room  on  the  fourth  floor. 

And  here  she  stayed  throughout  the  next  day, 
dreading  to  go  out  on  the  streets,  shrinking  from  con- 
tact with  its  soulless,  indifferent  throng.  But  toward 
evening  she  grew  faint  and  desperately  lonely  and  de- 
cided to  go  out  to  a  nearby  restaurant.  It  had  become 
unbearable  inside.  She  longed  to  hear  something  from 
Martin,  to  know  that  he  understood  and  forgave  her, 
to  offer  him  some  comfort.  But  she  had  purposely 


BURNING  BRIDGES  267 

closed  the  door  to  that  possibility.  For  she  knew  that 
there  was  nothing  that  either  of  them  might  say. 

For  herself  she  had  made  no  plan.  She  had  scarcely 
thought  of  herself  at  all.  Now,  as  she  forced  down 
some  sandwiches  and  a  cup  of  hot  chocolate  in  a  mir- 
ror-lined restaurant  on  Powell  street,  she  recalled  all 
at  once  the  money  which  she  had  stored  in  the  savings 
bank  under  her  own  name,  but  to  the  credit  of  a  dis- 
tracted stranger.  It  was  not  hers  and  she  had  always 
felt  that  some  day  she  would  see  its  owner  again  and 
return  it.  But  two  months  of  the  six,  which  she  had 
allowed  for  his  reappearance,  had  passed  and  still  he 
had  not  recrossed  her  path.  She  told  herself  now  that 
if  she  did  not  find  some  means  of  support  within  the 
next  few  days  she  would  borrow  from  the  account. 

"  Spend  it,"  Martin  Meggs  had  gaily  advised  her. 
"  No  matter  how  you  use  it,  you  will  doubtless  spend 
it  more  wisely  than  he  would  have  done."  She  shiv- 
ered now  at  the  memory  of  those  light  words.  How 
little  she  had  thought  then  of  the  emergency  which 
might  drive  her  to  seek  its  aid. 

She  finished  her  supper  and  went  out  to  the  street. 
It  was  after  six  now  and  the  electric  lights  had  changed 
the  dusk  to  evening.  Hardly  conscious  of  direction, 
and  feeling  only  that  she  must  get  away  from  Market 
street  with  its  jarring  tumult,  she  started  up  the  hill, 
walking  hurriedly  like  one  bent  upon  an  urgent  errand. 

A  voice  speaking  quite  close  to  her  brought  her 


268  BURNING  BRIDGES 

abruptly  out  of  her  absorption.  She  was  in  front  of 
the  "  Booklover's "  store  and  Miss  Marion  Judson 
was  standing  in  the  doorway.  "  I  want  to  see  you  a 
minute,  Miss  Bayne,"  she  said.  The  kindly  authority 
of  her  voice  was  unchanged,  but  Freda  saw  that  she 
was  struggling  with  strong  emotion.  She  followed 
her  silently  into  a  little  glass-walled  room,  evidently 
an  office,  at  the  rear  of  the  shop.  Miss  Judson  pushed 
one  of  the  straight-backed  chairs  toward  her  and  she 
sank  into  it,  outwardly  compliant  but  crying  out  with 
all  her  soul  against  the  mischance  of  the  encounter. 
Of  all  eyes  in  the  world,  she  would  have  chosen  last 
to  meet  those  of  this  keen,  quick-witted  woman  who 
had  all  unconsciously  introduced  her  to  the  anguish 
of  the  last  hours.  She  couldn't  meet  them.  She  felt 
that  they  were  reading  the  events  of  those  hours  as 
they  might  read  the  books  ranged  along  the  walls. 
She  fixed  her  gaze  upon  the  floor.  Surely  the  fire  in 
her  face  must  burn  it  to  ashes.  But  what  right  had 
this  woman  to  call  her  to  judgment?  What  right 
had  any  one  to 

Marion  Judson  was  speaking  in  a  curiously  tense 
voice.  "  Have  you  heard — have  you  heard — about 
Martin  Meggs?" 

Freda  looked  up,  startled.  Her  hands  gripped  the 
sides  of  the  chair  and  she  waited  dumbly,  like  a  hunted 
animal,  for  the  blow  of  its  pursuer. 

"  He  died  this  morning.     It  was  quite  sudden.     I 


BURNING  BRIDGES  269 

have  just  been  talking  to  Doctor  Latimer.  He  is 
shocked  by  its  unexpectedness.  It  seems  that  he  saw 
Martin  only  last  night.  He  came  in  to  see  him,  for 
the  doctor  wanted  to  talk  to  him  about  a  new  treatment 
for  his  hip.  He  kept  him  rather  late  and  Martin 
seemed  restless,  but  he  left  about  eleven,  feeling  quite 
well  and  hopeful  about  the  suggestion.  And  then, 
just  before  noon  today,  the  Japanese  servant  'phoned 
for  the  doctor.  Martin  must  have  had  one  of  those 
bad  attacks  with  his  hip,  for  the  man  found  him  dead 
in  his  room.  He  had  given  himself " 

It  was  the  agony  in  the  girl's  face,  rather  than  the 
cry  that  burst  from  her  like  imprisoned  flame,  that 
arrested  Miss  Judson' s  story  in  mid-sentence. 

Freda  scarcely  knew  how  she  got  back  to  the  hotel, 
except  that  Marion  Judson  came  with  her,  and  tried 
in  futile  ways  to  comfort  her.  But  in  spite  of  her 
kindly  ministry,  the  girl  was  glad  when  she  had  gone 
and  she  found  herself  alone.  Marion  Judson  had  asked 
no  questions,  had  looked  no  questions,  and  Freda 
cared  nothing  for  what  her  complete  collapse  must 
have  revealed.  Like  a  dreary  refrain  she  repeated 
over  and  over  again :  "  I  killed  him !  I  killed  him — 
and  he  wanted  so  much  to  die  like  a  man/' 

Life  was  too  brutal  a  thing  to  be  borne.  How  did 
other  people  endure  it?  she  asked  herself  wildly.  How 
did  those  others,  those  people  out  upon  the  streets, 
endure  it  and  live  it  out  to  the  end?  Did  they  aKI 


270  BURNING  BRIDGES 

suffer  like  this  ?  How  was  it  possible  that  they  could, 
and  yet  be  so  indifferent  to  her  pain !  And  people  must 
suffer  in  this  way  for  things  that  were  not  their  fault ; 
they  must  suffer  while  they  were  trying  to  do  right. 
With  that  realization,  there  was  born  in  her  soul  a  sor- 
row that  was  not  for  herself,  not  for  the  man  whose 
unhappy  end  had  so  unnerved  her,  but  for  those 
others,  those  nameless  others  of  the  world,  who  suffer 
uncomforted.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  felt 
their  presence,  felt  them  pressing  her  upon  every  side ; 
the  dry-eyed,  the  heroically  smiling,  the  gallantly 
silent;  the  spiritual  aristocracy  of  earth,  who  will  not 
pick  the  pennies  of  comfort  from  life's  cup  because 
they  see  that  her  store  is  meager,  and  that  there  are 
some  in  the  crowd  who  would  starve  without  them. 

With  these  she  felt  a  sudden  sense  of  kinship. 
Tears,  not  alone  for  her  own  pain,  but  for  the  pain  of 
those  countless  others,  burned  her  cheeks.  Her  cry 
was  but  a  part  of  the  universal  cry,  which  now,  for 
the  first  time,  beat  against  her  ears. 

There  are  some  who  call  this  highly  sensitized  gift  of 
hearing  life's  greatest  curse,  and  stuff  their  ears  with 
cotton.  And  some  call  it  education,  and  learn  to  listen 
untroubled.  But  there  are  others  who  quiver  with  the 
pain  of  it,  and  these  are  doomed  to  live  out  all  their 
days  in  a  blessed  bondage. 

The  next  evening  Marion  Judson  came  in  to  see 
her  on  her  way  home  from  the  "  Booklover's/'  and 


BURNING  BRIDGES  271 

Freda  was  able  to  meet  her  with  a  subdued  cordiality. 
She  dreaded  a  mention  of  the  tragedy,  but  braced  her- 
self for  it.  But  Marion  Judson  had  her  own  ideas  of 
comforting.  "  I  saw  that  friend  of  yours  last  night 
after  I  left  you,"  she  said,  refusing  the  chair  which 
Freda  offered,  on  the  grounds  that  she  would  miss 
the  six-fifteen  if  she  stayed  more  than  a  minute. 
'  That  girl  that  manages  the  appointments  at  the  hair- 
shop;  girl  with  the  plain,  attractive,  Irish  face.  I  like 
her;  she  looks  honest.  I  told  her  I'd  seen  you  and 
she  gave  me  a  piece  of  information  that  I  was  glad  to 
have.  You  have  given  up  your  work  there.  Now 
you're  showing  sense.  I  knew  you  had  it,  but  I  have 
wondered  when  you  would  discover  that  that  is  not 
the  place  for  you.  I  could  have  told  you  that  the  first 
day  I  saw  you  there.  Well,  the  point  is  now,  that  we 
need  some  help  at  the  '  Booklover's.'  It  would  be 
a  clerkship  at  first,  but  it  needn't  stop  at  that  if  you're 
as  adaptable  and  intelligent  as  I  think  you  are.  Think 
it  over  and  if  it  appeals  to  you,  come  around  at  the 
noon  hour  tomorrow  and  I'll  present  you  to  Mr. 
Nevin." 

When  she  had  bustled  away,  Freda  sat  at  the  win- 
dow, looking  out  at  the  lights  of  the  cities  across  the 
bay,  lying  low  in  the  darkness,  like  a  blanket  of  stars 
sheltering  a  tired  world.  How  kind  people  were,  after 
all!  With  what  unexpected  graciousness  a  mere  ac- 
quaintance had  turned  out  of  her  busy  way  to  open 


272  BURNING  BRIDGES 

for  her  a  door  which  might  lighten  the  stifling  oppres- 
sion of  the  days! 

She  entered  the  "  Booklover's  "  shop  the  following 
noon  to  find  Miss  Judson  at  one  of  the  long  tables  in 
the  back  of  the  store  sorting  a  pile  of  volumes  that 
bore  evidence  of  much  and  varied  handling.  "  These 
are  for  library  use,"  she  explained  in  a  matter-of-fact 
voice  as  though  Freda  were  already  one  of  the  "  Book- 
lover's  "  force.  "  Books  are  like  people ;  they  have  to 
adapt  themselves  to  the  changing  conditions  of  age. 
When  they  lose  the  freshness  of  youth,  we  take  them 
out  of  the  hustling  mart  of  center  aisles  and  put  them 
into  the  circulating  library  back  here,  where  in  addition 
to  the  deposit  of  a  dollar,  for  the  dreaded  '  rainy  day/ 
they  receive  an  income  of  a  nickel  a  reading.  Not  a 
bad  financial  rating,  and  a  perfectly  self-respecting  life. 
They  earn  their  board,  and  few  books  do  more." 

"  May  I  help  you  sort  them  out  ?  "  There  was  some- 
thing of  solace  in  the  very  touch  of  them.  For  almost 
an  hour  she  worked  with  Miss  Judson  until  the  shelves 
marked  "  Circulating  Library  "  were  filled. 

"Well,  I  go  to  lunch  at  one,"  her  companion  an- 
nounced. "  So  I'd  better  take  you  into  the  office  and 
let  you  have  a  chance  at  our  junior  partner.  It's 
Chapman  and  Nevin,  you  know,  but  Mr.  Chapman 
rarely  comes  in,  and  never  concerns  himself  with  the 
details  of  management.  I've  spoken  to  Mr.  Nevin 
about  you,  so  this  is  more  or  less  a  formality." 


BURNING  BRIDGES  £73 

The  introduction  over,  she  vanished  and  left  her 
protegee  confronting  Maxwell  Nevin,  a  man  in  the 
early  fifties,  with  thin,  humorous  lips  and  sensitive 
hands.  He  set  a  chair  for  her  with  old-fashioned 
courtliness  and  sank  into  the  one  in  front  of  a  colossal 
roll-topped  desk.  "  Miss  Judson  tells  me  that  you 
are  a  lover  of  books,"  he  said  genially.  "  Do  you  think 
you  would  care  to  be  a  Booklover?" 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,"  she  answered  earnestly.  "  There 
is  nothing  I'd  like  so  much,  Mr.  Nevin." 

The  fervor  of  her  tone  evidently  pleased  him. 
"  We  work  pretty  hard  in  here,"  he  told  her,  "  but  we 
get  a  lot  of  pleasure  out  of  it  somehow."  He  had  a 
habit  of  half  closing  his  eyes  as  he  talked,  which  gave 
him  a  calculating  air  at  variance  with  the  rich  mellow- 
ness of  his  voice. 

Freda's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  a  huge  packing  box 
which  stood  uncovered  beside  the  door.  "Are  all 
those  new  books  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Absolutely  new.  They've  just  come  in  from  our 
publishing  department."  He  walked  over  to  them, 
reached  down,  and  gathered  an  armful  of  them  at  ran- 
dom. "  We'll  put  these  out  in  the  windows  tomor- 
row," he  said,  spreading  them  over  a  table  beside  her. 
"  Just  glance  over  this  pile  and  tell  me  what  you  think 
of  them  as  a  lot." 

Freda's  eyes  lighted  with  a  quick,  responsive  little 
smile.  "  This  is — an  examination  ?  "  she  queried. 


274  BURNING  BRIDGES 

He  laughed.  "  Not  a  bit  of  it.  If  you've  never 
heard  of  any  of  these  scribblers  before,  your  stock 
won't  necessarily  drop.  But  if  you  do  happen  to  have 
read  any  of  them  I'd  be " 

He  stopped  because  he  saw  that  she  was  not  listen- 
ing. With  the  all-oblivious  absorption  of  the  biblio- 
maniac she  was  scanning  the  titles  on  the  pile  of 
volumes.  Suddenly  she  began  to  tug  at  her  gloves. 
"  You'll  excuse  me,"  she  murmured.  "  I  never  can 
look  at  books  with  my  gloves  on.  I  have  to  feel 
them." 

Her  fingers  closed  over  one  of  the  crisp  paper- 
jacketed  books  and  dragged  it  from  the  stack.  "  Oh, 
I  didn't  know  that  Stanford  Spence  had  a  new  collec- 
tion out."  She  turned  its  pages  wistfully.  "  Are  these 
as  good  as  '  This  Side  Up  '  ?  " 

"Take  it  home  and  read  them  and  tell  me  what 
you  think."  Maxwell  Nevin  leaned  over  and  tapped 
the  volume  with  his  fountain  pen.  "  He's  a  new  writer, 
you  know,  and  I  discovered  him,  as  it  were — an 
American  De  Morgan  I  think  he  is  going  to  be.  But 
he  hasn't  tried  a  novel  yet  and — I  don't  know —  You 
never  can  tell." 

Half  an  hour  passed  delightfully  and  with  incredi- 
ble swiftness.  Then  Freda  rose  to  go  with  a  startled 
little  exclamation  of  apology.  In  her  arms  were  four 
of  the  crisp-covered  new  books.  "  So  much  obliged 
to  you  for  the  opportunity  to  read  these,"  she  mur- 


BURNING  BRIDGES  275 

mured.  "  But  I  can't  agree  with  you  about  the  Araby 
novels,  Mr.  Nevin.  I  think  they  strike  a  false  note 
somehow.  They're  popular  now,  but  they  won't  live; 
they  won't  last,  I  think." 

She  had  almost  reached  the  front  door  of  the  shop 
when  suddenly  she  stopped  short.  Marion  Judson 
was  looking  at  her  quizzically  from  across  a  counter. 
In  flushed  embarrassment  she  turned  and  walked  back 
to  the  door  of  the  little  glass  office.  Maxwell  Nevin 
glanced  up  absently. 

"  I  forgot,"  she  began  in  confusion,  "  I  forgot  to 
ask  you —  Am  I —  Am  I " 

"  You  are,"  the  junior  partner  assured  her. 

She  was  deep  in  one  of  the  borrowed  volumes  that 
evening  when,  just  after  her  solitary  dinner  at  the 
hotel,  a  caller  came  to  her  door,  breathless  and  unan- 
nounced. It  was  Eileen,  and  although  she  made  an 
attempt  at  her  old  off-hand  greetings,  Freda  was 
alarmed  at  the  trouble  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  told  you  I'd  drop  in  again,  Freda,  and  I  have. 
That  little  spinster  friend  of  yours  told  me  where  you 
were."  Freda  caught  the  strained  note  in  her  tone 
and  forgot  that  she  herself  had  ever  known  a  pang. 
"  Eileen !  "  she  cried.  "  Eileen,  something  has  hap- 
pened. Have  you  come  to  let  me  help  you — at  last?  " 

The  other  girl  nodded.  "  I  don't  know  just  what  it 
is,"  she  said  thickly.  "  But  I'm  goin'  up  to  find  out. 


276  BURNING  BRIDGES 

I  thought  I'd  ask  you  if  you'd  come  with  me.  It's 
only  out  on  Pacific  Avenue,  and  we  can  ride." 

Freda  was  already  putting  on  her  hat.  When  they 
were  out  on  the  street,  Eileen  suggested  a  car.  "  It'll 
be  too  far  to  walk,  I  guess,"  she  said. 

"  Not  for  me,"  Freda  responded.  "  Unless  you're 
in  a  hurry  I'd  rather  walk.  I  feel  that  I'd  like  to  walk 
on  and  on  indefinitely." 

They  had  gone  two  blocks  before  Eileen  spoke  in  a 
tense  voice  from  which  all  the  old  gaiety  had  fallen 
away.  "  I  ain't  ever  told  you  much  about  myself, 
Freda.  When  you  came  in  with  us,  we  all  just  took 
each  other  as  we  stood  and  no  questions  asked.  That's 
San  Francisco,  and  it  suits  me  and  suited  us  all.  The 
way  I  look  at  it  is,  everybody's  got  their  own  troubles 
and  nobody's  in  the  market  for  any  bargain  rates  on 


mine." 


"  Except  your  friends,"  Freda  interrupted  gently. 
"  And  they  have  a  right  to  them — for  nothing." 

Eileen  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "  I  had  a  friend 
once,"  she  said.  "  She  was  pretty  near  all  I  did  have 
then,  too,  and  I  didn't  care  much  if  I  never  had  any- 
thing else.  All  she  had  to  do  was  to  come  into  the 
room,  and  trouble  seemed  to  melt  away.  And  then 
one  day,  when  I'd  been  hit  over  the  head  by  somethin' 
so  big  that  I  couldn't  help  but  notice  it,  I  reached  out 
for  her — and  she  wasn't  there  at  all.  And  a  long  time 
afterward  I  realized  that  she  never  had  been  there. 


BURNING  BRIDGES 

Well,  my  religion  is,  learn  somethin'  out  of  every- 
thing hard  that  hits  you.  Don't  let  it  get  away  till  it 
has  dropped  a  prize  box  into  your  lap.  The  grab  I  got 
out  of  that  experience,  was  that  friendship  is  just  like 
everything  else  in  life.  It  ain't  on  the  'Today's 
Specials  '  counter.  It's  for  sale  at  the  regular  price, 
not  subject  to  reduction.  If  you  want  it,  you  got  to 
pay  the  market  price.  Your  friends'll  like  you  just 
as  long  as  you  can  keep  them  from  knowin'  you. 
They'll  stick  to  you  just  as  long  as  you  keep  your  blue 
side  inside.  They'll  pour  out  sympathy  by  the  quart 
as  long  as  you  don't  appear  to  want  it.  But  once  show 
'em  that  you're  down  and  out,  and  are  Ivviri  on  what 
they  give  you,  and  they'll  fade  away  like  baked  ice. 
Me,  I  got  to  have  friends.  On  any  terms  I  got  to 
have  people  around  that  like  me.  So  I  pay  for  it  by 
makin'  'em  think  that  I'm  somebody  entirely  different 
from  what  I  really  am.  It's  fair  enough  too.  But 
sometimes " 

They  were  climbing  the  Geary  street  hill  now,  and 
on  a  corner  they  waited  an  instant  for  a  breathing 
spell.  At  the  same  moment  a  high-powered  black 
roadster  drew  up  to  the  curb  beside  them,  and  a  man's 
voice  brisk  and  authoritative  called  that  he  would  take 
them  "up  to  the  house." 

Without  a  word  Eileen  turned  toward  him.  He 
lifted  his  hat  perfunctorily  in  recognition  of  her  ex- 
planation, "  This  is  my  friend,  Miss  Bayne,"  and  the 


278  BURNING  BRIDGES 

next  instant  they  had  rounded  a  corner  and  were 
gliding  along  the  intersecting  street.  Not  a  word  was 
exchanged  between  the  trio.  The  man  stared  through 
the  darkness,  a  cigar  clenched  between  his  teeth. 
Eileen  sat  rigidly  silent.  The  defiance  had  burned  out 
of  her  eyes  and  left  them  with  a  strangely  haunted 
expression.  It  was  not  until  they  had  stopped  in  front 
of  a  handsome  granite-trimmed  apartment  house  and 
he  was  helping  them  to  alight  that  Freda  recognized 
the  stranger  as  the  man  who  had,  on  several  Sunday 
afternoons,  called  for  Eileen  at  the  flat. 

"  I  had  to  go  out  after  I  rang  you  up,"  he  was  ex- 
plaining to  her  in  his  brisk,  decisive  voice.  "  But  I 
thought  I'd  be  back  by  the  time  you  came.  Glad  I 
didn't  keep  you  waiting." 

Still  Eileen  said  nothing,  and  they  followed  him  up 
the  stone  steps.  A  colored  maid  opened  the  door. 
Scarcely  glancing  at  her,  he  tossed  his  hat  and  gloves 
in  her  direction  and  she  caught  them,  with  the  adroit- 
ness of  a  property  man  behind  the  wings  of  a  theater. 
"  Tell  Mrs.  Latimer  that  I  am  here,"  he  ordered. 

The  maid  disappeared  and  he  ushered  them  into  the 
most  luxurious  living  room  that  Freda  had  ever  seen. 
It  was  furnished  in  mahogany  and  a  soft  shade  of  blue. 
Her  feet  sank  into  the  heavy  warmth  of  the  rugs.  The 
chair  toward  which  her  host  waved  her  filled  her  with 
a  sense  of  grateful  relaxation.  But  its  subtle  promise 
of  rest  was  never  redeemed.  It  was  a  tense,  strained 


BURNING  BRIDGES  279 

half  hour  to  which  she  was  doomed  in  that  alluring 
living  room. 

Eileen  sank  upon  the  edge  of  a  wide  davenport  back 
of  which  a  table  strewn  with  magazines  and  lighted 
by  a  shaded  lamp  offered  its  irresistible  invitation  to  an 
hour  of  delightful  ease.  But  she  was  sitting  bolt  up- 
right, her  eyes  upon  the  face  of  the  man  standing  on 
the  hearthrug  before  her.  Both  of  them  seemed  to 
forget  the  presence  of  a  third  person  in  the  room. 
He  spoke  with  the  short-cut  words  of  one  accustomed 
to  pronouncing  undebatable  verdicts. 

"  I  have  just  returned  from  Agnew's.  I  told  you 
that  I  would  probably  be  able  to  report  upon  the  case 
today." 

"  Yes,  doctor.*'  The  tensity  of  Eileen's  voice  was 
instantly  apparent  to  his  expert  observation.  Reas- 
surance crept  into  his  own. 

"  It  was  about  two  years  ago  that  you  had  him  com- 
mitted to  the  asylum,  wasn't  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  nodded. 

"  And  the  physicians  there  pronounced  his  case 
hopeless?  There  was  certainly  no  indication  that  he 

would  ever  regain  his  sanity.  And  last  year "  He 

went  over  the  points  of  the  case  like  a  lawyer  building 
up  the  details  of  his  defense.  "  Last  year,  knowing 
that  he  was  incurable,  you  had  him  removed  from  the 
charity  ward  of  that  other  hospital,  to  Agnew's,  where 
you  felt  that  he  would  receive  better  care.  Six  months 


28o  BURNING  BRIDGES 

ago  I  saw  him  for  the  first  time  and  became  interested 
in  his  case.  I  sought  you  out  and  told  you  what  I 
thought  of  his  condition.  I  felt  justified  in  telling  you 
that  in  my  opinion  there  was  one  chance  in  a  hundred 
for  a  recovery  if  you  were  willing  to  take  a  long  risk; 
one  chance  in  a  hundred  if  you  would  consent  to  an 
operation;  a  very  dangerous  operation.  You  thought 
it  over  for  a  month  or  more,  you  remember,  and  then 
gave  me  your  answer.  I  think  I  recall  your  very 
words,  '  Fll  give  him  his  chance.  He's  got  a  right  to 
his  chance/  ' 

Eileen  sat  rigid  as  a  statue,  neither  assent  nor  denial 
on  her  white  lips. 

"  Well,  I  performed  the  operation  last  week,  as  you 
know.  I  performed  it,  knowing  that  if  I  were  in  the 
place  of  my  patient,  I  would  rather  take  my  one 
perilous  chance  at  sanity  and  lose  my  life,  than  to  lead 
such  an  existence  as  that.  I  was  unwilling  to  make 
any  report,  as  I  told  you,  until  I  had  time  to  be  fairly 


sure." 


He  came  over  and  stood  looking  down  into  the  girl's 
drawn  white  face,  one  of  his  keen  hands  resting  upon 
the  back  of  the  davenport.  "  I  think  that  the  crisis 
is  past,"  he  said  evenly.  "  I  think  I  can  assure  you 
now,  Mrs.  Morton,  that  your  husband  will  recover." 

The  davenport  seemed  suddenly  to  be  floating  before 
Freda's  eyes.  It  seemed  to  be  coming  toward  her  and 
then  receding  through  a  dank  mist.  Then  her  vision 


BURNING  BRIDGES  281 

cleared.  It  cleared  as  she  heard  a  woman's  wild, 
agonizing  cry,  and  saw  Eileen  bury  her  head  on  one 
of  the  broad  arms  of  the  couch.  Somehow  she  made 
her  way  over  to  her  and  took  one  of  those  icy  hands 
in  hers,  bewildered  but  eager  with  sympathy. 

"I  can't  stand  it!  Oh,  doctor,  I  can't  stand  it!" 
Eileen  flung  the  words  at  him  like  the  cry  of  a  drown- 
ing person  who  realizes  that  he  has  risen  to  the  surface 
for  the  last  time. 

Doctor  Latimer  still  stood,  looking  down  at  her, 
but  his  face  had  undergone  a  swift  change.  In  the 
keen  eyes  bewilderment  and  incredulity  were  strug- 
gling with  dismay.  "  I — I  don't  understand,  Mrs. 
Morton,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  I  was  bringing  you 
good  news.  I  thought  that  you — I  thought  that  you 
would  be  so  glad " 

Eileen  sprang  to  her  feet  and  faced  him,  all  the  pas- 
sion of  long  months  of  restraint  blazing  in  her  tragic 
eyes. 

"  Glad !  "  she  cried  passionately.  "  Glad  to  have 
that  creature  back  again !  Glad  to  take  him  back  into 
my  life  that  he  ruined  once  and  that  I  told  myself  he'd 
never  have  a  chance  at  again ! "  She  clenched  her 
hands  and  her  voice  changed  to  miserable  entreaty. 
"  You  told  me  that  you'd  only  had  one  case  before 
that  was  successful.  You  said — you  told  me  that 
there  was  hardly  any  hope  that  he'd  pull  through. 
You  said "  She  broke  off  and  sank  back  on  the 


282  BURNING  BRIDGES 

wide  davenport,  seeming  to  forget  his  presence. 
"  Oh,  why  did  I  do  it?  I  fought  it  all  out  with  myself 
once.  And  then,  when  you  came  and  took  me  out 
there — oh,  it  was  too  horrible  to  see  him  that  way. 
Even  for  him,  it  was  too  horrible  and — I  gave  in.  I 
felt  that  he  ought  to  have  his  chance,  that  I  had  no 
right  to  hold  his  chance  back  from  him.  And  I've 
known  ever  since,  that  I  acted  like  a  fool.  I  have !  I 
have!" 

Doctor  Latimer  had  turned  away.  He  seemed  to 
feel  all  at  once  that  the  thing  had  gone  beyond  him. 
Years  of  successful  practice  in  the  operating  room  had 
made  him  calm  and  self-assured  in  moments  of  phys- 
ical crisis,  but  before  the  anguish  of  this  human  soul 
that  his  knife  had  laid  naked,  he  recoiled  with  all  the 
sensitive  man's  horror  of  outraged  decency.  As  if  by 
magic,  the  colored  maid  appeared  suddenly  in  the  door- 
way. "  Tell  Mrs.  Latimer  to  come,"  he  said,  and 
disappeared  by  another  door. 

Left  alone  with  Freda,  Eileen  sought  relief  in 
incoherent  confidence.  "  Oh,  you'll  think  I'm  wicked, 
Freda.  You'll  think  I'm  a  criminal  and  I  guess  I  am 
at  heart.  For  the  reason  that  I  wanted  that  operation 
performed,  was  because  I  thought  he'd  die.  I  wanted 
him  to  die — and  leave  me  free.  Oh,  you  don't  know 
the  awful  nights  I've  had !  You  don't  know  what  my 
life  was  with  him.  Nobody  knows,  who  hasn't  tried 
to  live  with  a  man  like  that.  I  tried  to  be  a  good  wife 


BURNING  BRIDGES  283 

to  him — Lord,  how  I  tried !  But  no  woman  could  have 
stood  it.  I  was  too  young,  in  the  first  place,  I  suppose. 
I  oughtn't  to  have  ever  married  him.  But  I'd  never 
had  any  home.  I  never  knew  anything  but  an  orphan- 
age. And  he  could  talk  so  well.  I  thought  everything 
was  goin'  to  be  so  wonderful." 

Her  voice  died  away  and  Freda  did  not  try  to  urge 
her  to  talk.  She  knelt  beside  her  quietly,  waiting  for 
her  emotions  to  choose  their  own  course. 

"  For  the  first  three  months,  we  was  pretty  happy. 
He  was  good  to  me  and  my  only  complaint  was  that 
he  didn't  seem  to  want  a  home,  after  all,  and  we  just 
boarded  around  first  one  place  and  then  another.  He 
was  restless  and  never  wanted  to  stay  long.  He  had 
told  me  before  we  was  married,  that  he  had  big  minin' 
interests  and  was  well  off.  But  he  seemed  to  forget 
all  about  that  story,  and  when  I  tried  to  find  out  about 
it  once  he  got  mad.  When  I  saw  that  he  couldn't  stick 
at  any  job,  I  went  to  work  in  the  hair  store,  but  at 
first  you  don't  get  much,  you  know,  and  we  had  a 
pretty  hard  time.  He  was  a  good  machinist  and  could 
have  got  a  job,  but  he  didn't  like  it.  He  wanted  to 
speculate  and  make  big  money,  he  said.  He  was  hot- 
tempered  and  things  got  worse  and  worse.  When  he 
was  picked  up  in  the  street  one  day  for  tryin'  to  stab 
a  man  that  he'd  never  seen  before,  and  they  told  me 
he'd  have  to  be  penned  up  for  life — I  don't  care  if  I 
do  say  it,  it  seemed  like  God  had  answered  my 


284  BURNING  BRIDGES 

prayers.  I  was  sorry  for  him  though,  for  I  knew 
then  why  he'd  been  hard  to  get  along  with  and  that 
he  must  have  suffered  too.  When  I  began  to  get  a 
real  salary,  I  put  him  in  a  pay  room  so  he'd  have  good 
care.  I've  stinted  myself  as  much  as  I  could  and  hold 
my  job,  but  I  was  willin',  glad  to  pay  that  much,  just 
to  be  free." 

There  was  a  long  pause  while  she  looked  at  Freda 
uncertainly. 

"  And  then  you  met  George,'*  Freda  said  softly. 

"  Yes.    You  won't  understand  perhaps,  but " 

"  I  think  I  do,  Eileen." 

"We  just  had  a  good  time  together  at  first,  and 
never  thought  about  anything  else.  And  then,  almost 
before  we  knew  it,  things  got  too  hard  for  us.  George 
ain't  well  off,  he's  just  workin'  in  a  hardware  store, 
you  know,  but  I'd  be  willin'  to  work  my  hands  off  for 
a  man  like  that.  Well,  we  felt  that  we  couldn't  give 
each  other  up  while  we  was  livin'  in  the  same  town, 
and  George  and  I  talked  it  all  out  one  night  and  he 
agreed  with  me  that  I'd  better  take  a  position  some- 
where else  if  I  could,  and  we'd  just  write  to  each  other 
till  something  turned  up  for  us.  It  was  just  then  that 
Doctor  Latimer  came  to  see  me  and  took  me  up  to  his 
office  one  Sunday  and  explained  about  the  operation. 
George  was  for  it  strong,  but  I  think  I've  always  been 
a  little  afraid — afraid  that  life  would  play  me  another 
low-down  trick.  But  when  I  went  out  there  to  the 


BURNING  BRIDGES  285 

asylum  with  the  doctor,  I  had  to  consent,  no  matter 
what  happened  to  us  all.  From  what  he  said,  I  didn't 
think  Tom  would  pull  through,  and  it  never  seemed  to 
occur  to  me  that  if  he  did,  he'd  get  well.  I  can't  seem 
to  think  of  him  that  way — Oh,  but  Freda,  he  is,  he  is, 
and  I've  got  to  go  back  to  him  and " 

She  broke  into  a  torrent  of  tears,  heaving,  con- 
vulsive tears  that  Freda  felt  powerless  to  check  or 
soften.  She  turned  away,  sick  with  the  futility  of  her 
effort,  with  the  inevitable  loneliness  of  sorrow.  And 
in  that  moment  there  was  a  soft  rustle  of  skirts,  a  low 
murmur  of  voices  outside  the  living  room  door.  It 
opened  and  closed,  and  a  woman  crossed  the  room 
and  drew  the  shaking  Eileen  into  her  arms.  She  asked 
no  questions,  and  offered  no  comfort,  except  to  hold 
her  there,  close  to  her  until  the  chill  which  seemed  to 
rack  Eileen's  body  left  her  and  she  grew  quiet. 

Then  she  rose  from  her  knees,  and  for  the  first 
time  Freda  saw  her  face.  At  sight  of  it,  the  crucial 
scene  which  she  had  just  witnessed  was  completely 
annihilated.  The  picture  which  flashed  before  her 
now  was  the  old  dining  room  at  West  Winds;  herself 
sitting  there,  with  an  arithmetic  book,  listening  to  the 
patient  explanations  of  the  girl  beside  her,  while 
Mother  hovered  somewhere  in  the  shadowy  back- 
ground, assuring  them  that  the  "  pully  "  candy  was 
almost  done. 

It  was  the  face  of  Doris  Hartwell. 


PART  SEVEN:   THE   CORNER   TABLE 


XIV 

IT  would  be  three  months,  according  to  Doctor 
Latimer's  verdict,  before  he  would  be  willing  to  dis- 
miss Tom  Morton  from  his  care  and  pronounce  him 
cured.  Mrs.  Latimer  delivered  this  message  herself, 
and  followed  it  with  a  suggestion,  before  whose  at- 
tractiveness Eileen  finally  surrendered. 

"  Over  in  Mill  Valley/'  she  told  her,  "  we  have  a 
little  house;  a  bare,  plain,  woodsy  little  house  nestled 
in  among  the  trees.  I  call  it  my  house,  but  it  isn't 
really,  for  I  didn't  even  build  it.  The  doctor  and  I 
discovered  it  once  when  we  were  rambling  over  the 
mountains  on  one  of  our  Sunday  afternoon  excursions. 
It  was  just  before  we  were  married.  I  had  stumbled 
upon  it  quite  by  accident  one  day  when  I  was  alone; 
so  had  he.  We  had  both  been  saving  it  to  show  the 
other,  and  we  were  married  a  year  before  either  of  us 
was  willing  to  relinquish  the  first  rights  to  it.  We 
spent  our  honeymoon  there.  It  was  in  the  wonderful 
month  of  October  and  the  doctor  took  his  first  vaca- 
tion in  five  years.  That  was  almost  three  years  ago 
and  we  have  never  been  there  since.  We  knew  we 
wouldn't  when  we  left,  although  neither  of  us  admitted 
it.  But  we  couldn't  let  the  little  house  go.  It  was 

289* 


290  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

hallowed  by  those  days  of  perfect  happiness  and  must 
be  forever  ours.  And  it  has  never  been  lonely.  The 
doctor  says  I  am  superstitious  about  it.  I  feel  that  as 
long  as  the  chain  of  human  association  with  it  is  un- 
broken, some  of  the  happiness  that  we  stored  into  it 
will  find  its  way  into  the  soul  of  every  dweller  under 
its  roof.  If  houses  are  haunted  with  evil,  they  must  be 
haunted  with  good  too;  it's  only  fair.  So  we  call  it 
'  The  Bluebird  Cottage/  There  are  two  trained  nurses 
over  there  now  who  are  taking  a  rest  cure.  They  are 
already  '  haunted '  with  the  happiness  of  returning 
health.  They're  buoyant  and  altogether  charming  and 
would  love  to  have  another  companion.  There's  oceans 
of  room.  Won't  you  give  my  '  Bluebird '  cottage  a 
chance  for — well,  until  it  gets  on  your  nerves  to  be 
out  of  the  world?" 

And  so  it  was  arranged.  Freda  went  over  with  her 
the  following  afternoon  and  drew  a  sigh  of  relief  as 
she  committed  her  to  the  genial  restfulness  of  the  little 
home  among  the  redwoods.  It  had  been  a  nerve- 
racking  experience.  Glenn,  absorbed  in  her  new  pro- 
fession and  familiar  with  all  the  antecedent  action  of 
the  little  drama,  felt  its  climax  less  of  a  shock. 

"  It's  goin'  to  work  out  all  right  for  her/'  she  as- 
sured Freda,  with  that  ready  optimism  which  is  the 
easiest  service  ever  rendered  to  the  demands  of 
friendship.  "  I  know  it  all  looks  pretty  black  for  her 
now,  but  it's  bound  to  come  out  all  right.  Eileen  and 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  291 

George  have  both  been  square  with  each  other,  and 
they've  got  to  be  happy  in  the  end.  It's  in  the  cards." 

"It's  in  books  too,"  Freda  mused.  "But  life 
doesn't  care  anything  about  rewarding  goodness.  In 
books,  when  people  are  in  the  way  like  Tom  Morton, 
they  are  killed  off.  It's  so  easy." 

She  felt  almost  guilty  about  her  own  connection 
with  Eileen's  hard  experience.  It  seemed  to  her  an 
almost  brutal  thing  that  the  tangled  trail  over  which 
her  companion  had  traveled,  should  have  been  the 
means  of  leading  her,  Freda,  to  a  renewal  of  the  one 
golden  friendship  of  her  life.  And  it  had  been  renewed 
with  a  cordiality  more  satisfying  than  anything  she 
had  ever  experienced.  A  question  here  and  there,  a 
train  of  eagerly  caught  up  memories,  and  the  gap  of 
the  intervening  years  was  bridged.  Doris  Latimer 
herself  had  divined  the  climax  to  the  Rocky  Cove 
chapter. 

"  And  your  father Did  he  marry  again?  " 

They  were  sitting  in  the  Latimers'  dining  room, 
where  Freda  had  come  at  Doris'  insistent  invitation 
after  her  first  day  at  the  "  Booklover's,"  to  have  din- 
ner. The  doctor  had  gone  out  and  would  not  be  home 
until  late,  and  they  lingered  at  the  table  after  the 
dishes  had  been  cleared  away  and  a  heavy  tapestry 
cloth  had  replaced  the  linen. 

"  It's  a  lonely  place  up  there,"  Doris  went  on,  and 
Freda  knew  that  she  was  thinking  aloud  rather  than 


292  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

questioning  her.     "  And  your  father,  I  imagine,  is  a 
dependent  sort " 

And  then  Freda  told  her  story,  and  in  its  telling 
found  an  inexpressible  relief.  She  told  it  all,  and 
Doris  Latimer  listened,  her  eyes  luminous  with  unshed 
tears.  But  the  girl's  voice  was  steady,  almost  imper- 
sonal, as  though  the  experiences  were  those  of  some 
mere  acquaintance.  And  there  was  neither  accusation 
against  others  nor  defense  of  herself  in  the  narration. 
All  the  tensity  of  its  scenes  seemed  to  have  burned 
away.  Perhaps  it  was  this  very  lack  of  denunciation, 
this  passionless  acceptance  of  life,  that  made  her  in- 
finitely pathetic  to  her  auditor.  When  Doris  Latimer 
spoke,  her  own  voice  was  sharp  with  resentment. 

"You're  too  young,  Fredrica!  You're  too  young 
to  have  been  so  much  alone!  Oh,  why  didn't  I  know 
about  it?  Why  don't  we  know  about  these  things  in 
time  to  help !  What  are  we  for?  " 

Her  sympathy  thrilled  the  girl's  heart  like  sunlight 
falling  upon  the  tight-closed  petals  of  a  flower.  But 
she  dreaded  to  taste  its  sweetness,  to  taste  and  then 
relinquish  it. 

"  So  you  see  what  I  am/'  she  reminded  her  hur- 
riedly. "  You  see  what  I  am  and  how  easily " 

"  I  see  what  you  are,  yes.  You  gave  up  your 
choice  at  the  very  moment  when  to  give  it  up  was 
hardest,  when  most  women  would  have  felt  that  it 
was  an  impossible  thing  to  do." 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  293 

"  It  wasn't  I  who  did  it,"  Freda  told  her  wearily. 
"I  wanted  to  stay.  /  ached  to  stay  and  make  him 
happy.  And  if  I  had  known  what  was  going  to 
happen "  She  broke  off  with  a  shudder. 

:<  You  gave  him  a  few  happy  hours ;  the  happiest 
hours  of  his  life,  at  terrible  expense.  Oh,  my  poor 
little  girl!" 

"  But  it  wasn't  all  his  fault! "  Freda  cried  in  quick 
defense.  "If  you  only  knew  how " 

"Yes,  I  do  know.  I  can  imagine.  The  most  pa- 
thetic of  all  my  husband's  patients.  I  can  understand 
it,  dear.  I  can  understand  you  both.  Two  fine  char- 
acters entangled — it's  one  of  the  most  crucial  situa- 
tions in  life." 

A  silence,  that  healing  silence  of  perfect  under- 
standing, fell  between  them.  Then  Freda  spoke 
slowly.  "  One  thing  I'd  like  to  know.  I  don't  sup- 
pose you  could  tell  me.  Nobody  can  really  know,  of 

course,  but Do  you  think  that  when  he  first 

asked  me,  he Do  you  think  he  felt  a  little  surer 

of  me — because  of  my  father?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  possible  that  it  influenced  him,  em- 
boldened him  perhaps,  but  I  think  it  equally  possible 
that  he  wasn't  aware  that  it  did." 

They  went  out  into  the  cheerful  glow  of  the  living 
room  then,  Doris  eager  with  plans  for  the  girl's 
future.  "You  mustn't  stay  at  that  hotel,  Fredrica. 
You're  going  to  stay  with  us  for  awhile.  The  doctor 


294  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

is  away  so  much  and  I  need  some  one,  I  need  you. 
He  will  feel  so  much  happier  about  me  when  he  knows 
you  are  here.  We  were  talking  about  it  this  morn- 
ing." 

The  invitation  was  almost  irresistibly  alluring. 
For  a  moment  Freda  hesitated.  "  I  can't,"  she  said 
at  last.  "  I  really  can't.  For  Glenn  told  me  yesterday 
that  she  hated  her  boarding  place.  She  wants  me  to 
take  an  apartment  with  her,  and  I  promised  her  yes- 
terday that  I  would.  You  see,  she  has  most  of  the 
days  free,  and  she  says  that  it's  awful  to  live  in  a 
boarding  house  if  you  have  any  leisure.  When  I 
first  came  to  the  city,  you  know,  and  was  all  alone, 
she  and  Eileen  shared  their  home  with  me." 

"  I  know,"  Doris  Latimer  interrupted  with  a  touch 
of  impatience.  "  But  isn't  it  almost  time  for  you  to 
think  about  yourself  a  little?" 

In  the  end  she  yielded  reluctantly  to  the  girl's  deci- 
sion. 

"  When  I  was  in  Rocky  Cove,"  she  told  her,  "  your 
mother  was  the  one  congenial  person  whom  I  met. 
That  was  a  hard  year.  I  had  just  lost  my  own 
mother  and  she  took  me  to  her  heart.  I  shall  never 
forget  it,  but  I  suppose  I  must  remember  it  in  some 
other  way,  you  strong-headed  little  thing." 

One  way  in  which  she  "  remembered  "  was  to  go 
with  the  girls  on  their  quest,  and  stock  the  modest  little 
uptown  apartment  which  they  chose  with  a  variety  of 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  295 

unobtrusive  little  luxuries.  To  them  it  seemed  a 
veritable  little  palace  of  comfort.  A  cheerful  little  en- 
trance hall,  running  the  width  of  the  rooms,  and  large 
enough  for  hat  and  umbrella  rack,  a  mission-paneled 
living  and  dining  room,  with  bedroom  adjoining, 
a  blue  and  white  bathroom  with  linoleum,  camou- 
flaged to  represent  tiles,  and  a  love  of  a  kitchenette; 
this  was  the  home  complete.  The  piano,  which  was 
a  necessity  to  Glenn  now,  encroached  aggressively 
upon  the  site  of  the  wall  desk,  but  Freda  agreed  that 
the  latter  was  a  superfluous  accessory  with  which  they 
might  easily  dispense.  It  was  a  harder  wrench  to 
relinquish  the  long  mirror  on  the  reverse  side.  "  But 
in  time,"  she  promised,  "  I  can  forget  that  it's 
there." 

The  two  occupants  of  this  luxurious  little  dwelling 
rarely  met,  except  on  Sundays.  When  Freda  returned 
from  the  book  store  at  six,  Glenn  had  gone,  and  she 
was  careful  not  to  waken  her  when  she  stole  away 
in  the  mornings.  They  kept  each  other  informed  of 
the  happenings  of  the  day  by  means  of  notes  pinned 
to  the  roller  towel  in  the  kitchenette.  Comments 
upon  the  services  of  the  butcher,  the  milkman  and  the 
janitor,  and  suggestions  for  the  morrow's  menu, 
formed  the  subject-matter  of  many  of  these  missives. 
But  there  was  other,  more  colorful  incident,  too.  In 
this  more  highly  spiced  narrative,  Freda  was  the  bene- 
ficiary rather  than  the  dispenser.  For  her  days  at 


296  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

the  bookshop  furnished  scant  material  for  that  form 
of  adventurous  literature  which  Glenn's  soul  craved. 
They  were  happy,  all-absorbing  days,  but  it  was  a  kind 
of  happiness  which  she  found  impossible  to  describe 
by  the  roller  towel  method  of  communication.  It 
might  have  been  said  that  Glenn  furnished  the  plot 
for  their  community  living,  and  Freda  the  atmos- 
phere. 

"  I'd  die  tucked  away  in  that  old  book  store, 
Freda,"  she  once  remarked.  "  It  suits  you  all  right, 
and  you  thrive  on  it.  But  I'd  pass  away.  I've  got 
to  have  some  excitement  in  mine." 

And  if  excitement  were  denied  to  her  as  a  first-hand 
gift  of  the  gods,  she  good-humoredly  accepted  the 
vicarious  adventures  in  romance  that  passed  in  frag- 
mentary glimpses  before  her  eyes  every  evening. 

"  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  make  myself  as  interesting 
to  you  as  I  can,  Fred,"  she  explained,  with  one  of 
her  rare  approaches  to  affection.  "  For  you  were  such 
a  brick  to  give  up  the  Latimers  and  come  here  with 
me.  If  I'd  stayed  in  that  boarding  house  a  day  longer, 
I  would  never  have  been  able  to  play  another  note. 
It  wasn't  the  room,  you  know,  or  the  meals.  They 
were  as  good  as  the  average,  and  you  know  I'm  not  a 
kicker,.  But  the  conversation  at  meals!  Always 
about  dreary,  safe  topics  like  the  weather.  Oh,  my 
Lord!" 

And  so,  like  the  numbers  on  a  theater  bill  which 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  297 

promise  a  change  of  performance  daily,  she  brought 
the  gossip  of  the  elite  into  the  little  apartment,  and 
served  it  up  on  a  roller  towel. 

For  Radcliffe's  is  the  only  exclusive  cafe  in  San 
Francisco.  It  is  not  regarded  by  its  habitues  as  a  cafe, 
properly  speaking,  but  as  a  sort  of  open-door  club. 
It  scorns  the  cheap  Bohemianism  of  the  downtown 
restaurants.  Its  floor  is  not  covered  with  sawdust; 
its  waiters  are  not  garbed  in  overalls ;  the  tops  of  its 
tables  are  not  convertible  into  dance  pavilions,  and 
its  musicians  confine  their  entertainment  to  the 
stage. 

Because  of  these  eccentricities,  Radcliffe  has  won 
for  himself  the  opprobrious  title  of  "  high-brow,"  and 
is  happy  in  his  degradation.  Around  his  tables  con- 
gregate scientists  and  celebrated  professional  men, 
with  honor  emblems  dangling  from  their  watch  chains ; 
artists,  recuperating  in  the  west  after  too  hard  or  too 
swift  or  too  hot  a  pursuit  of  the  coquettish  mistress, 
Fame;  authors,  who  have  graduated  from  being 
writers,  and  representatives  from  that  rapidly  dimin- 
ishing class  of  society  who  still  class  dining  as  legiti- 
mate, rather  than  vaudeville,  drama. 

Into  the  fathomless  depths  of  this  tranquilly  run- 
ning stream,  Glenn  threw  her  line  and  brought  up  an 
occasional  small  fish  for  the  delectation  of  Freda's 
solitary  breakfast. 

"  Harry  Mayes  was  at  R's  last  night  with  a  swell 


298  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

looking  girl.  They  say  that  he's  engaged  to  her  but 
it  isn't  announced.  I  think  he's  the  author  of  that 
book  you  were  reading  last  Sunday  in  the  park." 

So  the  tenor  of  the  notes  ran.  That  Glenn  was  sel- 
dom able  to  remember  both  the  name  of  an  author 
and  his  achievements,  made  little  difference  to  Freda, 
for  she  could  usually  be  counted  upon  to  furnish  the 
missing  links.  And  she  devoured  these  tidbits  with 
an  almost  pathetic  eagerness.  Glenn's  sketchy  reports 
came  to  her  like  distant  reverberations  from  a  world 
in  which  she  longed  to  live. 

The  book  store  gave  her  of  its  best,  and  she  returned 
it  with  hers.  Three  months  after  she  became  one  of 
its  force,  Maxwell  Nevin  summoned  her  to  his  office 
and  told  her  that  she  was  to  have  charge  of  the  New 
Books.  "  You  have  worked  in  here  just  as  Miss 
Judson  told  me  you  would,  Miss  Bayne,"  he  said, 
"  She  will  instruct  you  about  the  details  of  the  depart- 
ment, which  includes,  of  course,  the  circulating  books, 
I  think  you  will  find  the  work  congenial." 

Congenial  was  a  mild  term  for  Freda's  pleasure, 
as  she  followed  Marion  Judson  about,  gleaning  de- 
tached ideas  of  cataloguing.  She  had  learned  not  to 
ask  her  superior  direct  questions,  for  Miss  Judson  was 
one  of  those  persons  who  do  not  conceive  of  conversa- 
tion as  a  collaborate  effort.  She  possessed  that  peculiar 
genius  for  intermittent  monologue,  which  incorpo- 
rates into  soliloquy  the  answers  to  queries  put  to  her 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  299 

by  strategic  seekers  after  information.     It  was  only 
a  case  of  patience. 

"You'll  notice  a  run  on  certain  writers,"  she  re- 
marked now,  in  the  midst  of  instructions  concerning 
shelf  arrangement.  "  And  you  must  keep  your  hand 
upon  the  pulse  of  public  interest.  Short  story  collec- 
tions are  not  usually  good  publishing  risks.  O.  Henry, 
of  course,  and  a  few  older  ones;  also  this  new  author, 
Spence.  He's  the  rage  now.  But  the  psychological 
novel  is  coming  in  again,  I  think,  and  the  short  story 
and  novel  both  which  feature  mere  plot,  action,  is  on 
the  wane.  People  get  enough  of  that  in  the  movies. 
There's  going  to  be  a  reaction  in  fiction  that " 

This  was  Miss  Judson's  hobby.  She  was  forever 
predicting  a  renaissance  in  fiction,  and  she  looked  for- 
ward to  the  decline  and  fall  of  the  modern  novel  with 
the  grim  expectancy  of  a  prophet,  predicting  the  end 
of  the  world. 

Freda  herself  browsed  with  the  happy  aimlessness 
of  the  true  bookworm,  among  any  of  the  departments 
that  invited  her.  She  read  fiction,  biography,  history, 
travel,  and  verse,  devoting  all  her  leisure  to  these, 
except  the  Sunday  afternoons  which  she  spent  with 
the  Latimers.  Her  disquieting  anxieties  concerning 
Eileen  had  been  lulled  to  a  temporary  rest  and  released 
her  ever-alert  sympathies  from  their  unconscious 
strain. 

For  Tom  Morton,  upon  his  release,  had  refused  to 


300  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

consider  domestic  life  until  he  had  made  a  trip  out  of 
the  state.  Thence  he  promised  the  listless  Eileen  to 
return  and  take  up  the  responsibilities  of  married  life. 
Grateful  for  even  a  few  months  more  of  respite,  she 
had  acquiesced  and  taken  a  temporary  position  in  the 
beauty  parlor  of  one  of  the  large  hotels.  The  girls 
saw  her  seldom,  but  she  sent  an  occasional  telephone 
message  of  reassurance. 

Meanwhile,  the  months  passed,  and  Freda  worked 
her  way  into  the  very  core  of  the  "  Booklover's " 
life. 

"  Ask  for  Miss  Bayne,"  its  old  customers  were 
wont  to  advise  the  new.  "  That  pretty,  serious- 
looking  little  girl  with  the  wonderful  hair.  She  can 
tell  you  just  what  you  want." 

By  these  long-distance  introductions  they  were  pre- 
sented to  the  head  of  the  "  New  Books  "  department, 
and  Freda  redeemed  their  promises  a  hundredfold. 
She  had  graduated  now  from  being  a  mere  book  clerk, 
and  had  become  a  mother-confessor,  a  diagnostician,  a 
lamp  unto  the  feet  of  the  hesitant  followers  of 
Minerva. 

When  a  society  bud  asked  for  a  book  suitable  for 
her  college  brother,  Freda  did  not  offer  her  "  Pil- 
grim's Progress."  For  the  little  girl  who  wanted 
"  something  interesting  to  read  on  the  train,"  she  did 
not  suggest  "  Three  Weeks,"  and  she  made  no  allu- 
sion whatever  to  any  of  the  Best  Sellers,  when  a  hag- 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  301 

gard  man,  wearing  a  band  of  crepe  on  his  arm,  con- 
fided to  her  that  he  wanted  something  that  would  give 
him  a  "new  grip."  She  possessed  a  fluent  knowledge 
of  three  different  languages — English,  college  English, 
and  New  Thought.  It  was  when  Maxwell  Nevin  dis- 
covered this,  that  he  decided  to  put  her  in  charge  of 
the  New  Books  department. 

"  I  want  something  that's  got  a  lot  of  good  love 
scenes  in  it,"  a  shopworn  looking  girl  confided  to  her 
one  afternoon  during  the  first  week  in  her  new  do- 
main. "  I  don't  care  much  what  the  story's  about,  so 
long  as  its  strong  on  conversation  and  has  got — what 
I  told  you.  If  a  book  ain't  got  love  in  it  by  the  second 
chapter,  I  ditch  it." 

When  Freda  had  supplied  her  with  a  novel  which 
had  love  in  the  first  chapter,  and  continued  the  theme, 
with  increasing  violence  to  the  last,  she 'turned  her 
attention  to  the  young  man  who  was  studying  the  con- 
tents of  the  New  Books  table. 

"  I  wish  you'd  pick  me  out  about  three  of  the  livest 
novels  you've  got  in  this  bunch,  please,"  he  ordered. 
"  I  want  something  snappy,  and  if  I  stood  here  look- 
ing them  over  all  the  rest  of  the  day,  I  wouldn't  know 
any  more  about  them  than  I  do  now.  You  know 
about  the  style  of  stuff  I  mean,  don't  you?" 

"  Oh,  yes.     I  think  so." 

"  Send  them  up  to  this  address  this  afternoon  if  you 


302  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

When  he  was  gone  and  she  had  selected  the 
"  livest "  trio  of  novels  which  the  New  Books  af- 
forded, keeping  her  customer's  face  and  manner  in 
view,  as  though  she  were  fitting  him  with  an  intel- 
lectual suit  of  clothes,  she  picked  up  the  card  which  he 
had  left  lying  face  down  upon  the  counter  and  read 
the  address:  MR.  NORMAN  BREWSTER,  Hotel 
St.  Gregory. 

All  the  way  home  from  the  store  that  evening, 
Freda  was  revolving  in  her  mind  a  plan  for  restoring 
to  their  erratic  owner,  "  Brewster's  Hundreds." 
Under  ordinary  circumstances  it  would  have  been  a 
simple  enough  matter  to  have  written  him  a  note  of 
explanation,  inclosing  a  check.  But  the  words  of 
Constance  North  had  planted  an  insurmountable  bar- 
rier between  herself  and  this  man.  A  less  intense 
temperament  would  have  forgotten  the  jealous  words 
long  ago  or  remembered  them  only  with  contemptu- 
ous amusement.  But  the  tragic  affair  with  Martin 
Meggs  had  made  Freda  abnormally  sensitive.  It  had 
deepened  her  old  reticence  a  hundredfold. 

"  A  preordained  man-hunter !  "  Norman  Brewster 
was  doubtless  married  by  this  time,  but  she  shrank 
from  any  move  that  he  might  interpret  as  an  effort 
to  renew  their  casual  acquaintance.  But  a  written 
communication  seemed  the  only  dignified  way  out  of 
the  dilemma.  The  next  evening  she  devoted  to  the 
construction  of  notes.  She  wrote  four,  all  of  which 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  303 

were  discarded  after  careful  readings.  One  was  too 
abrupt,  another  too  vague,  the  others  too  garrulously 
explanatory.  She  decided  that  the  fifth  would  do.  It 
was  the  kind  of  note  a  man  could  read  and  never  think 
of  again.  She  scanned  its  brief  page  with  approval. 


MY  DEAR  MR.  BREWSTER: 

Through  certain  business  connections,  I  have  dis- 
covered that  the  money,  which  I  herewith  inclose,  be- 
longs to  you.  It  came  into  my  possession  on  the 
evening  of  January  sixteenth,  under  circumstances 
which  made  its  return  impossible  before.  I  have  been 
hoping  to  discover  your  address  during  the  past 
months,  but  the  directory  could  give  me  no  help,  and 
not  until  a  few  days  ago  did  I  find  out,  quite  by  acci- 
dent, where  a  letter  might  reach  you. 

Kindly  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  the  inclosed  and 
oblige 

Yours  sincerely, 

FREDRICA  C.  BAYNE. 


The  last  injunction  had  required  some  pondering. 
But  she  had  decided  that  Glenn's  post  office  box  af- 
forded security  against  any  possible  discovery  of  her 
identity,  and  several  hundred  dollars  simply  couldn't 
be  sent  off  into  space  with  no  assurance  of  its  safe 
arrival.  When  they  took  the  apartment,  Glenn  had 
decided  to  have  a  box  so  that  she  might  call  for  her 
mail  just  before  going  to  work  in  the  evenings, 
and  thus,  as  she  expressed  it,  "get  in  on  the  last 
delivery." 


304  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

When  the  letter  was  mailed  and  "  Brewster's  Hun- 
dreds "  en  route  at  last  to  their  rightful  owner,  Freda 
was  immensely  relieved.  Of  course  her  name  would 
be  as  unenlightening  to  him  as  the  noncommittal  ad- 
dress itself.  It  had  been  a  curious  little  adventure, 
as  had  been  all  of  her  encounters  with  this  brilliant, 
unaccountable  stranger.  She  reviewed  these  as  she 
walked  home  that  evening  after  sending  off  her  letter. 
What  moments  of  rare  pleasure  they  had  given  her, 
and  how  ruthlessly  they  had  been  terminated  always 
by  some  one  who  seemed  elected,  by  an  uncompromis- 
ing fate,  to  show  her  her  own  rightful  place  in  the 
social  scale. 

"If  you  find  a  letter  in  your  box  addressed  to  me, 
don't  be  surprised,"  she  warned  Glenn  the  next  morn- 
ning  when  they  met  at  their  late  Sunday  breakfast. 
"It's  nothing  exciting;  simply  a  business  letter  and 
I  didn't  wish  it  sent  to  the  house.  You  don't  mind, 
do  you?  " 

Glenn's  wide-open  eyes  surveyed  her  with  quiet 
amusement.  "  It's  the  demure,  cold-storage  girls  like 
you,  Freda,  that  play  the  very  dickens  with  men.  Of 
course  I  don't  care  what  they  put  into  my  box,  but 
why  don't  you  let  me  in  on  the  fun,  kiddo? 
Is  he  in  the  matrimonials  or  the  '  too  late  to  clas- 
sify'?" 

Under  her  indolent,  good-natured  scrutiny,  Freda 
found  herself  blushing.  This  was  the  very  suggestion 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  305 

which  her  carefully  worded  little  message  had  tried  to 
circumvent.  The  commonness  of  seeking  acquaint- 
ance with  a  man  through  the  medium  of  beguiling  let- 
ters was  unendurable. 

"  It's  nothing  like  that,"  she  assured  her  companion 
earnestly.  "  It's  nothing  like  that  at  all.  I  sent  a 
person  some  money — that  I  had  borrowed,  and  I'm 
returning  it,  that's  all." 

"  Oh !  "  Glenn  pulled  the  plug  out  of  the  electric 
percolator  (Doris  Latimer's  last  contribution  to  the 
apartment)  and  poured  out  two  cups  of  coffee  before 
she  spoke.  Then  the  raillery  had  died  out  of  her 
voice.  "  Say,  kiddo,  if  you  ever  want  to  borrow  any 
more  money,  get  it  from  me.  My  pile  ain't  so  large 
yet  that  a  bank  clerk  would  get  it  mixed  with  the 
Rothschilds',  but  what  there  is  of  it  is  on  tap  for  you. 
Don't  go  borrowin'  from  any  man  though.  Any- 
body could  tell  by  lookin'  at  you  that  you're  straight 
as  the  road  to  Kingdom  Come,  but  it  ain't  safe.  You'll 
hear  from  him  all  right." 

This  prophecy  proved  correct.  Two  days  later 
Freda  found  pinned  to  the  roller  towel  an  envelope 
bearing  the  insignia  of  the  Hotel  St.  Gregory.  Under 
the  flowing  letters  of  the  superscription,  Glenn  had 
written  the  warning,  "  Go  Easy,  Mate."  Freda  read 
the  letter,  to  the  purring  accompaniment  of  percolat- 
ing coffee. 


306  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

MY  DEAR  Miss  BAYNE, 

Your  letter,  with  inclosure,  was  a  gratifying  sur- 
prise. It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  receive  three  hundred 
and  twenty  dollars  under  conditions  so  unexacting. 
It  is  a  pleasanter  thing  to  receive  more,  and  I  note 
that  you  withdrew  the  amount  exactly  three  days 
after  the  semi-annual  interest  upon  it  had  been  paid. 
This  was  surely  more  than  genial  coincidence;  it  was 
business  sagacity  of  the  highest  order.  And  will  you 
allow  me  to  confess  that  never  before  has  money  of 
mine  remained  stationary  long  enough  to  accumulate 
commercial  moss. 

Assuming  that  this  money  is  really  mine,  there  are 
certain  rights  of  ownership  which  I  cannot  waive.  I 
demand  the  right  of  meeting  its  custodian  and  of  ex- 
pressing some  measure  of  my  gratitude  for  her  able 
administration  of  my  affairs.  I  feel  that  I  cannot  ac- 
cept your  precipitous  resignation  without  a  protest. 

You  have  the  advantage  of  me  in  name  and  address, 
but  unless  I  hear  from  you  within  the  week,  a  detec- 
tive shall  be  stationed  at  box  438  under  strict  orders 
from 

Your  grateful  client, 

NORMAN  BREWSTER. 

Freda  tucked  this  missive  away  in  the  tray  of  her 
trunk  as  a  souvenir  of  an  interesting  adventure  past. 
She  would  ignore  the  suggestion  of  an  interview,  of 
course,  for  no  matter  how  gallantly  he  carried  it  off, 
she  was  sure  that  reference  to  their  chance  encounter 
must  inevitably  be  embarrassing  to  them  both.  What 
sinister,  unhappy  associations  might  that  evening  in 
January  recall  to  his  memory!  It  was  natural  of 
course  that  he  should  ask  for  an  opportunity  to  express 
his  thanks.  Perhaps,  now  that  he  was  married,  he 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  307 

might  adopt  the  North  method  of  conveying  his  grati- 
tude. She  smiled,  a  bitter  cynical  little  smile,  as  Edna 
North's  silver  mesh  bag  flashed  before  her  mind's  eye. 

No,  this  was  the  end  of  the  adventure  with 
"  Brewster's  Hundreds,"  she  told  herself  as  she  hung 
up  her  hat  and  wrap  at  the  shop  the  next  morning. 
But  fate  had  different  plans,  which  she  revealed  two 
weeks  later. 

It  proved  to  be  an  unusually  busy  morning.  By 
noon,  Freda  had  made  out  a  list  of  books  suitable  for 
a  college  athlete,  spending  some  weeks  in  a  hospital, 
had  selected  several  volumes  to  enliven  the  leisure 
hours  of  a  remote  miner,  who  had  warned  her  by  let- 
ter that  he  did  not  "  go  in  for  love,  adventure  or  re- 
ligion," and  had  prescribed  and  sold  dozens  of  other 
books  to  the  voracious,  sensation-seeking  public.  Now 
there  was  the  usual  noon  hour  lull  and  she  snatched 
a  few  moments  to  rearrange  some  of  the  books  on 
the  shelves  of  the  circulating  library. 

She  was  roused  from  this  task  by  the  sound  of  a 
customer  who  paused  at  the  "  Standard  table  "  near 
the  front  door  and  began  turning  the  pages  of  a  new 
Stevenson  set.  Without  glancing  at  him  Freda  went 
on  with  her  work.  She  knew  that  when  patrons  dis- 
played an  interest  in  the  standards,  it  was  fatal  to  fol- 
low them  about  with  tentative  suggestions.  Such  fish 
is  not  caught  in  nets,  but  by  an  ambushed  angler, 
gifted  with  tactful  indifference  and  an  infinite  patience, 


308  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

So  she  continued  to  sort  books  while  the  customer 
worked  an  erratic  passage  toward  her.  Then,  just  at 
the  critical  moment,  while  he  hesitated  to  take  the 
plunge  from  old  fiction  to  new,  she  glided  to  his  side. 

As  their  eyes  met,  Norman  Brewster  laid  down  the 
book  which  he  had  carried  from  the  standard  table. 
In  his  eyes  was  the  expression  of  a  man  who  has  come 
to  the  end  of  a  long  quest.  But  before  he  had  time 
to  recover  from  his  surprise,  Freda  spoke  in  a  po- 
litely professional  voice. 

"  I  think  you  may  be  interested  in  this  new  edition 
of  Kipling.  It  has  just  come  in." 

A  slow  frown  furrowed  itself  between  the  man's 
eyes.  "  I  don't  care  to  look  it  over  just  now."  And 
then,  all  at  once  his  tone  changed.  It  became  as  coldly 
business-like  as  her  own.  "You  have  a  circulating 
library,  haven't  you?  A  friend  of  mine  sent  me  some 
novels  from  here  a  few  weeks  ago,  but  I  didn't  seem 
to  care  for  them." 

He  caught  Freda  for  a  moment  off  her  guard.  "  I 
wouldn't  have  selected  them  for  you"  she  explained 
in  quick  apology.  "  but  he  said  he  wanted  something 
light,  something " 

"  That  was  just  what  I  told  him  to  get,"  he  inter- 
posed. "  And  I  came  in  quest  of  something  else  that 
is  typically  modern.  I  thought  I  could  do  better  if 
I  selected  myself  this  time." 

" Oh,  it  is  for  some  one  else  then?  " 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  309 

A  gleam  of  amusement  lighted  his  face.  "Why 
do  you  think  that  it  isn't  for  me?" 

"  Because."  She  saw  that  he  was  laying  a  trap  for 
her,  and  made  a  skilful  detour.  "  Because  if  you  had 
wanted  something  like  that  for  yourself,  you  wouldn't 
have  spent  so  much  time  with  Stevenson." 

"  Wrong,"  he  retorted,  smiling  at  her  adroitness. 
"  It  is  for  myself."  He  leaned  one  elbow  on  a  pile 
of  Best  Sellers  and  regarded  her  seriously.  "  I  was 
brought  up  on  that  sort  of  stuff,"  he  said,  nodding  in 
the  direction  of  the  standards.  "  By  the  time  I  was 
fifteen,  I'd  read  a  lot  of  Scott  and  Dickens  and 
Maupassant  and  other  boys  of  that  class.  The  result 
is,  that  now  I  am  a  rube  in  educated  society.  I  can 
hear  people  discuss  books  all  evening  and  never  catch 
the  sound  of  a  familiar  name.  I  suppose  it's  a  case 
of  arrested  development.  I'm  in  a  state  of  intellectual 
anaemia.  When  the  conversation  gets  beyond  Poe,  my 
temperature  rises;  when  it  overtakes  Howells,  they 
have  to  use  ice  bags.  So  I've  put  myself  on  a  diet. 
My  nourishment  from  now  until  future  notice  is  to 
be  provided  by  the  Moderns.  I  don't  know  who  they 
are  nor  what  they'll  do  to  my  digestion,  but  I'm  going 
to  take  the  treatments.  I'm  at  your  mercy,  you  see. 
Pour  out  the  first  dose." 

Freda  listened  with  something  more  than  profes- 
sional sympathy.  Confidences  were  a  daily,  almost  an 
hourly  occurrence,  but  this  one  had  the  relish  of 


3io  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

novelty.  Never  before  had  she  prescribed  for  just 
such  a  patient.  She  took  a  catalogue  from  one  of  the 
tables  and  a  pencil  from  her  hair.  "  Some  of  the 
moderns  are  well  worth  while,"  she  encouraged. 
"  Don't  you  really  like  Howells?  " 

"  I  do.  I  named  him  as  my  last  outpost.  It  is 
beyond,  not  including,  the  landmarks  that  I'm  an  out- 
cast." 

"  If  you  like,"  she  suggested,  "  I'll  go  over  our  list 
with  you  and  check  those  that — you  really  ought  to 
know."  She  pressed  back  the  limp  cover  of  the 
catalogue  and  plunged  into  the  task.  When  her  pen- 
cil checked  off  a  name,  she  gave  a  brief  review  of 
the  volume,  touching  upon  its  plot  and  setting  and 
supplementing  these  with  occasional  biographical  inci- 
dents concerning  the  author. 

At  the  end  of  the  lesson,  the  Old  Young  Man 
straightened  and  drew  a  long  breath.  He  had  once 
encountered  a  conscientious  garage  employe,  an  un- 
hurried city  editor,  a  surgeon  who  was  reluctant  to 
operate,  and  other  curious  human  phenomena,  but 
never  before  had  he  experienced  a  book  clerk  who 
knew  books. 

She  turned  to  the  shelf  behind  her  and  began  the 
course  of  instruction  by  a  selection  from  among  the 
A's.  And  Norman  Brewster  accepted  her  choice  in 
dazed  silence  and  went  his  way. 

When  he  had   gone   Freda   stood   at   the   library 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  311 

shelves  considering  the  case  of  her  new  patient  with 
a  pensive,  far-away  expression  on  her  face.  She  was 
still  thinking  of  him  when  Miss  Judson  bustled  in  and 
reminded  her  brusquely  that  it  was  time  to  go  to 
lunch. 

Two  days  later  when  Norman  Brewster  brought 
back  the  A  author,  he  was  mildly  enthusiastic.  "  Not 
bad,"  he  told  Freda  as  she  searched  for  his  second 

"  dose."  "  Not  bad  at  all  but How  many  olives 

is  it  that  you  have  to  eat  before  you  begin  to  like 
them?" 

He  was  back  again  the  next  Saturday  when  she 
returned  from  lunch,  idly  turning  the  pages  of  a  new 
biographical  dictionary  and  chatting  with  Miss  Jud- 
son. When  Freda  entered  he  strolled  back  to  the 
circulating  library  and  slipped  his  "  return  "  into  its 
place  without  comment.  She  looked  at  him  with  dis- 
approving eyes. 

"  You're  not  being  quite  fair  to  the  modern  novel- 
ists," she  said  reproachfully.  "  You  can't  expect 
much  of  an  author  whom  you  read  as  rapidly  as  you 
have  read  that.  You  remember  what  Arnold  Bennett 
says,  that '  the  man  who  simply  reads  an  author  with- 
out meditating  upon  him  is  really  insulting  the 
author/  You're  supposed  to  eat  the  olives  that 
you're  trying  to  like,  you  know :  not  swallow  them 
whole." 

"  I'm  going  to  do  all  my  meditating  at  the  end  of 


312  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

this  course,"  he  explained.  "  My  friend,  Carlton, 
who  came  in  for  those  first  books,  you  remember,  lives 
with  me,  and  he  strongly  objects  to  any  form  of 
meditation.  It  isn't  in  his  line  at  all,  and  we  must 
consider  the  feelings  of  the  people  who  live  with  us." 

But  her  advice  had  evidently  made  some  impression 
upon  him,  for  it  was  almost  a  week  before  he  visited 
the  "  Booklover's  "  again.  From  that  time  on,  he  came 
once  a  week,  usually  on  Saturdays.  Freda  waited  for 
his  criticism  of  the  volumes  that  he  returned,  but  he 
made  none.  One  day  his  eyes  wandered  restlessly  over 
the  shopworn  volumes  upon  the  shelf.  The  course  on 
the  Moderns  had  progressed  as  far  as  the  Us  now,  but 
his  gaze  halted  upon  some  books  near  the  end  of  the 
shelf.  He  read  over  their  titles  listlessly.  Suddenly 
he  made  a  defiant  announcement. 

"  I'm  going  to  skip  some.  The  last  of  the  alphabet 
may  not  be  any  better  than  the  first,  but  I'm  going  to 
try  it.  You've  got  to  take  some  risks  in  mental 
dietetics  in  order  to  test  your  vitality." 

He  selected  a  volume  from  among  the  W's.  "  Tell 
me  about  this,"  he  ordered. 

When  she  had  given  him  one  of  her  brief,  clear-cut 
reports  upon  it,  he  slipped  it  back  into  its  place.  His 
fingers  closed  upon  another  book,  choosing  at  random. 

"  That's  the  second  collection  of  stories  by  Stan- 
ford Spence,"  she  told  him.  "  I  believe  you  said 
once "  She  stopped  suddenly,  then  realized  that 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  313 

she  had  gone  too  far  to  stop.  "  I  believe  you  said 
once  that  you  had  never  read  any  of  his?  " 

He  didn't  seem  to  be  listening,  but  was  turning  the 
pages  with  idle  interest,  reading  here  and  there  in  hap- 
hazard fashion.  She  took  down  several  books,  re- 
solving to  leave  the  choice  of  these  to  him.  When 
she  glanced  up,  she  saw  that  he  was  not  reading  and 
that  he  was  looking  at  her  with  an  oddly  intent  ex- 
pression in  his  deep-set  eyes, 

He  weighed  the  volume  in  his  hand  as  though  test- 
ing its  literary  merit  by  the  measure  of  avoirdupois. 
But  he  seemed  to  have  lost  interest  in  its  contents. 
"  Well,  how  about  it  ? "  he  demanded  stoically  at 
length.  "  Does  the  modern  short  story  belong  in  a 
study  of  the  Moderns  ?  " 

"  Some  collections  do,"  she  answered.  "  But " 

She  paused,  uncertain. 

"But  what?"  he  persisted,  with  a  touch  of  impa- 
tience. 

"  Well,  he  has  just  brought  out  that  series.  If  you 
like  Spence,  don't  read  the  later  ones.  You  see,  they 
were  published  in  one  of  the  cheaper  magazines 

and Well,  he's  no  worse  than  any  of  the  others, 

I  suppose.  They  all  seem  to  come  down  to  flashy  sort 
of  work  after  they've  made  names  for  themselves." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  flashy  sort  of  work?  " 

She  looked  at  him  a  little  helplessly.  "  Why— I 
think  you  know  what  I  mean.  Plots  and  characters 


3H  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

that  show  life  on  its  lowest  levels  and  striving  for 
nothing  better.  Absurd  improbabilities  coated  over 
with  the  clever,  slangy  dialogue  that  succeeds  in  dis- 
guising so  much  poor  workmanship.  All  sorts  of 
neurotic  adventure  served  up  to  suit  the  public's  crav- 
ing for  sensation." 

"Why  do  they  do  it?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I  suppose  for  the  reason  that  I've  just  suggested 
— the  public  wants  it." 

"  Not  all  the  public." 

"  No,  but "  She  paused,  considering  the  ques- 
tion gravely.  "  There  are  people  like  you  and  me 
who  don't  like  it,"  she  went  on  in  an  abstracted  tone 
as  though  her  attention  were  fixed  upon  an  effort  to 
visualize  these.  "  But  the  trouble  is,  we  are  such  a 
silent  group.  We  are  glad  when  we  come  upon  the 
kind  of  literature  that  we  like,  but  the  other  part  of 
the  public  pound  on  the  table  and  shout  for  what  they 
want." 

He  slipped  the  collection  of  short  stories  back  into 
place. 

"  Well,  at  least  you've  spoiled  my  taste  for  this 
chap.  I'm  sure  I  should  hate  him."  He  sighed.  "  No 
good  comes  of  skipping,  I  see.  It's  better  after  all  to 
bear  those  L's  we  have  than  fly  to  S's  that  we  know 
not  of." 

When  she  had  given  him  his  next  volume,  he  laid  it 
on  top  of  a  row  of  Best  Sellers  and  faced  her  with 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  315 

a  new  expression  in  his  eyes.  "  Miss  Bayne,"  he  said 
quietly,  "don't  you  think  I  have  been  punished 
enough?  " 

XV 

STARTLED  out  of  her  professional  serenity  by  the 
abruptness  of  Norman  Brewster's  challenge,  Freda 
felt  herself  blushing,  and  was  furious  at  her  own 
embarrassment. 

"  I  had  to  get  it  over,"  her  customer  went  on  with 
a  brutal  disregard  of  her  helplessness.  "  I  have  been 
wondering  how  much  longer  you  were  going  to  keep 
me  on  the  rack." 

"  I  wasn't  trying  to  keep  you  on  the  rack,"  she  said 
slowly.  "I " 

"  Well,  it  has  had  that  effect  anyway.  Do  you 
remember  the  night  of  the  dress  rehearsal  at  the 
Mansfields',  when  you  fled  away  into  the  night 
after  giving  me  the  big  suggestion  for  my  third 
act?  Well,  in  your  haste  you  lost  your  slipper 
that  night,  Miss  Cinderella.  I  found  it  after  you'd 
gone — a  handkerchief  with  F.  Bayne  printed  across 
the  corner.  It  was  the  only  clue  I  had.  A  detective 
could  have  run  you  down  and  secured  a  ten  years' 
sentence  on  less,  but  I  am  not  a  detective.  All  I  could 
do  was  to  treasure  it  and  pray  to  the  god  of  luck. 
And  I'd  begun  to  think  that  he  had  gone  out  of  busi- 
ness when,  out  of  a  clear  sky,  came  your  note." 


3i6  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

He  shivered.  "  The  style  was  unmistakable.  Aloof, 
elusive,  all  the  things  that  proclaimed  it  unmistakably 
your  handiwork.  It's  a  merciful  thing  that  it  struck 
me  in  midsummer.  If  I  had  been  exposed  to  it  in) 
winter,  nothing  could  have  saved  me  from  an  attack 
of  pneumonia." 

Freda  smiled  in  spite  of  herself.  The  Old  Young 
Man  went  on  in  a  tone  from  which  all  the  light  banter 
was  gone.  "  You  crossed  my  path  last  January  just 
in  time  to  keep  me  from  making  the  biggest  mistake 
of  my  life.  And  now  that  I  have  found  you,  do  you 
think  I  can  let  you  hide  behind  a  post  office  box  ?  " 

The  following  Sunday  when  she  went  to  the  Lati- 
mers',  he  was  there.  When  she  entered  he  drew  him- 
self out  of  the  long  Morris  chair  in  the  dim  living 
room,  where  they  were  enjoying  the  twilight,  and  ap- 
pealed to  his  hostess.  "  Mrs.  Latimer,  will  you 
please  introduce  me  to  this  lady?  And  if  it  isn't  too 
great  a  strain  upon  your  friendship,  assure  her  that 
I  am  a  good  moral  character,  that  I  visited  in  your 
home  once  for  a  whole  week,  and  that  when  I  left 
you  didn't  miss  any  of  the  wedding  silver;  that  no 
one  in  my  family  has  ever  been  hung,  and  anything 
else  you  can  think  of  that  will  give  me  status." 

It  was  a  gay  little  supper  party,  for  no  one  else 
came  in  that  evening,  and  in  the  absence  of  the  serv- 
ants, who  always  had  Sunday  night  off,  Doris  and 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  317 

Freda  prepared  the  cold  chicken,  sandwiches,  fruit, 
and  coffee,  while  Norman  Brewster  set  the  table,  and 
the  doctor,  who  in  his  leisure  hours  was  a  passionate 
music  lover,  played  snatches  of  opera  on  the  Baby 
Grand. 

"  It  was  such  a  delightful  surprise  to  have  Norman 
turn  up,"  Doris  said  as  she  cut  waferlike  slices  of 
bread  at  the  pantry  table.  "  He  and  my  brother  were 
college  friends  at  Princeton,  but  although  I  knew  he 
was  out  here  on  the  coast,  he  didn't  drop  in  until  a 
week  or  so  ago." 

"  He  seems  to  have  a  boundless  leisure,"  Freda 
commented.  "  What  does  he  do  ?  " 

"  My  dear  child,  he  doesn't  have  to  do  anything. 
That  is  the  one  disadvantage  in  his  life.  He  is  con- 
tent simply  to  be.  Belongs  to  the  Dwight  Brewster 
connection,  you  know,  big  railroad  people  in  the  east. 
He's  not  very  congenial  with  his  father  and  sister 
though,  so  he  has  been  spending  most  of  his  time  out 
here  since  he  left  college.  Last  winter  I  heard  he  was 
engaged  to  one  of  his  sister's  friends  who  came  out 
to  spend  the  season.  A  stunning  looking  girl  but 
rather  shallow  I  thought.  I  was  glad  when  it  was 
suddenly  broken  off.  They  were  not  congenial  in 
their  tastes  at  all.  It  was  one  of  those  prearranged 
affairs.  They  were  brought  up  with  the  idea  that 
some  day  they  would  be  married.  The  Brewsters  are 
a  very  aristocratic  family  and  were  anxious  to  have 


3i8  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

him  settled  with  Constance  before  he  did  anything 
erratic.  I  think  they've  always  been  gripped  by  the 
fear  that  he'd  disgrace  the  family  by  making  an  out- 
rageous match.  The  Norths  are  an  old  family  here; 
that  is,  the  Thomas  Norths  are,  and  Constance  is  a 
niece  of  theirs.  They  returned  to  the  east  just  after 
the  engagement  was  broken." 

The  sandwiches  were  ready  and  Freda  carried  them 
into  the  dining  room,  where  Norman  Brewster  was 
whistling  a  subdued  obligate  to  the  doctor's  rendering 
of  "  La  Boheme,"  as  he  distributed  butter  knives  on 
the  wrong  side  of  each  plate. 

That  Sunday  evening  was  the  beginning  of  a  new 
era  for  Freda.  It  was  her  "  coming  out "  party. 
From  it  she  emerged  into  a  world  of  lights  and  color 
and  music  and  laughter.  San  Francisco,  which  had 
hitherto  seemed  an  arena  of  struggle,  or  a  pleasure 
palace  to  which  only  those  possessed  of  a  mystic  pass- 
word might  seek  admission,  suddenly  threw  open  her 
doors  and  invited  her.  She  had  longed  wistfully  to 
catch  just  a  glimpse  of  the  glittering  life  behind  those 
doors  but  had  never  dreamed  of  feeling  herself  a  part 
of  it. 

But  now,  sitting  with  Norman  Brewster  in  the 
theater,  smiling  at  him  across  the  tables  of  downtown 
cabarets,  spending  delicious  holiday  hours  with  him 
down  on  the  waterfront,  where  he  was  on  terms  of 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  319 

easy  friendship  with  stevedores  and  captains  alike, 
climbing  Tamalpias  and  learning  to  row  on  Lake  Mer- 
ritt;  these  things  brought  her  a  keen-edged  joyous- 
ness,  and  the  man  who  provided  them  looked  upon  his 
achievement  with  an  ever-increasing  triumph. 

"You  like  this  sort  of  thing,  don't  you?"  he  said 
one  evening  as  they  leaned  on  the  upper  railing  of 
the  Key  Route  ferryboat  and  watched  the  widening 
circles  of  foam  churned  by  the  giant  wheel.  They 
were  returning  from  a  dance  at  the  Claremont  Coun- 
try Club,  and  Freda's  face  was  aglow  with  youth 
and  the  joy  of  conquest.  All  the  days  of  the  past 
were  blotted  out.  Life  was  a  thing  only  of  the 
throbbing  present.  She  was  wearing  the  first  evening 
cloak  that  she  had  ever  possessed;  a  fairy  thing  of 
sky  blue,  whose  soft  white  furry  collar  nestled  caress- 
ingly against  her  hair  and  changed  the  gray  of  her 
eyes  to  fathomless  blue.  They  were  fixed  dreamily 
upon  the  distant  electric  advertising  signs  that  van- 
ished and  reappeared  in  the  darkness  of  the  soft  Sep- 
tember night,  like  the  handwriting  of  some  super- 
natural being. 

"  Like  it?  "  she  cried.  "  I  love  it!  It's  beautiful! 
It's  wonderful!  But  I  can't  make  it  seem  quite  real. 
It  can't  go  on  this  way,  you  know." 

"Why  not?" 

She  sighed.  "  Oh,  it's  too — too  perfect.  Nothing 
like  this  lasts.  It  isn't — life." 


320  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

"  Poor  little  girl.  You  haven't  much  faith  in  life, 
have  you?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  but  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  fantastic  signs.  "  Can't  you  believe  in  it  a  little, 
Miss  Cinderella?" 

"  I  think  I  could  believe  in  anything  on  a  night  like 
this." 

"  Then  I  shall  tell  you  something  that  I  want 
very  much  to  have  you  believe.  Do  you  remember 
that  night  in  January?  Have  you  ever  wondered 
about  it?" 

"  Yes.  I  have  wondered  very  much  about  it.  It 
was — an  adventure." 

"  Only  that  for  you  perhaps.  But  for  me  it  was  a 
crisis.  That  night  was  the  culmination  of  a  long 
strain.  The  woman  to  whom  I  was  engaged  had  told 
me  that  I  must  choose  between  her  and  the  work 
which  T1  wanted  to  make  my  life.  She  had  no  sym- 
pathy with  my  ambition  to  suffer  and  sacrifice  in 
order  to  get  somewhere.  She  saw  no  necessity  for 
my  wanting  to  go.  Her  idea  of  marriage  seemed 
to  be  that  it  would  provide  her  with  a  permanent 
escort  to  the  functions  which  filled  her  days.  I  had 
decided  that  she  was  right,  that  I  was  not  justified  in 
thinking  that  I  could  achieve  anything  that  would  be 
worth  its  cost.  I  had  started  downtown  to  make  the 
reservations  for  our  honeymoon  trip.  On  the  way, 
I  stopped  to  look  over  that  new  apartment  which  was 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  321 

being  built  on  the  Norths*  property.  It  was  almost 
dark,  but  I  noticed  another  man,  prowling  around  the 
back.  I  thought  he  was  one  of  the  workmen  looking 
for  his  tools,  and  paid  no  attention  to  him.  When  I 
got  inside  and  started  up  the  ladder  to  the  second 
floor,  I  saw  that  he  was  following  me.  I  was  halfway 
up,  when  all  at  once  he  jerked  the  ladder  down.  All  I 
remember  after  that,  is  striking  the  floor  below  with  a 
terrible  crash  and  of  feeling  his  weight  upon  my  chest. 
When  I  came  to  in  the  hospital,  I  thought  of  course 
that  he  had  taken  my  money.  I  suppose  the  only 
reason  that  he  didn't  was  that  some  one  came  along 
just  then  and  frightened  him.  But  I  had  a  curious 
feeling  about  it  all.  It  seemed  an  intervention  by  the 
hand  of  fate." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  between  them. 

"  I  don't  know  why  Constance  didn't  believe  my 
story,"  he  went  on  at  last.  "  I  suppose  my  narrative 
was  a  little  confused.  She  was  furious  with  me  for 
having  made  a  fool  of  myself,  and  the  engagement 
was  off." 

"  I  see,"  Freda  said  slowly.  "  It  would  have  been 
a  mistake  ?  " 

"  The  biggest  mistake  of  our  lives.  You  saved  us 
both  from  making  it." 

"  I  suppose  it  was  a  fortunate  chance  then.  But " 

A  frown  clouded  her  face.  "  I  don't  think  I  like 
that  role :  a  blind,  fumbling,  destructive  form  of  help- 


322  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

fulness.     An  evil  genius,  gone  right  for  a  moment. 
And  perhaps  not  so  very  right  after  all." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

She  turned  to  him  with  her  old  eager  intentness. 
"  Don't  you  see,  Mr.  Brewster  ?  The  story  you  have 

just  told  me Well,  to  use  your  own  expression, 

it  doesn't  go  anywhere.     You  lost  the  woman  you 
cared  for  and " 

"  Whom  I  thought  I  cared  for,"  he  amended.  But 
she  went  on,  unheeding  the  interruption. 

"  You  lost  something,  but  I  don't  see  that " 

"  You  don't  see  that  she  did." 

His  tone  was  full  of  whimsical  irony,  but  there 
was  no  raillery  in  his  eyes. 

She  flushed.  "  You  know  I  don't  mean  that.  I 
mean  that  you  lost  something,  but  you  didn't  gain 
anything  in  its  place.  You  have  paid  a  high  price 
for  something  that  you  haven't Your  ambi- 
tions, I  mean Are  you  realizing  them  at 

last?" 

"  My  ambitions  have  changed.  I  have  only  one 
now — to  be  happy." 

"  You  mean — to  spend  evenings  like  this  ?  To  go 
about  doing  this  sort  of  thing — all  the  time?  " 

"  Absolutely." 

"  But  this  doesn't It  doesn't  get  you  any- 
where." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  anywhere.    I  intend  to  make 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  323 

this  my  permanent  address.  And  you  say  that  you 
love  it,  that  it's  wonderful  and " 

"  It  is  to  me.  I  feel  that  I  can  never  get  enough  of 
it.  But "  She  turned  on  him  in  a  sudden  pas- 
sion of  scorn.  "  But  if  I  had  a  talent  like  yours.  If 
I  had " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  cried  sharply.  "Why 
do  you  say  that  I  have  a  talent?  Why  do  you 
think ?" 

"  You  forget  that  I  have  read  one  of  your  plays," 
she  told  him  quietly.  "  You  forget — Belshazzar." 

He  smiled  grimly.  "  No,  I  shall  never  forget  Bel- 
shazzar. I  have  good  reason  to  remember  Bel- 
shazzar." 

"  Everything  is  so  easy  for  you,"  she  sighed. 
"  Everything  is  so  easy  that  of  course  you'll  never 
win  the  thing  for  whose  sake  you  ought  to  be  willing 
to  push  everything  aside." 

The  ferry  was  gliding  into  the  slip  now,  and  they 
followed  the  little  group  of  sleepy  passengers  down- 
stairs. On  the  way  up  Market  street  they  said  little, 
but  when  they  reached  the  apartment  he  lingered  over 
the  farewells. 

"  You  remember  that  we  planned  to  go  down  to  the 
pier  again  soon,"  he  reminded  her.  "  Can't  we  make 
it  next  Sunday?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I'm  afraid  not.  I  have 
another  engagement  for  Sunday." 


324  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

"  When,  then?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I'll  be  very  busy  at  the  store  these 
next  few  weeks.  We're  taking  stock.  I  don't  think 
I'll  be  able  to  go  out  very  much." 

"  When  shall  I  see  you  again,  then? " 

But  she  would  give  him  no  definite  answer  to  this 
question.  And  he  took  her  at  her  word,  for  during 
the  next  week  he  did  not  even  come  to  the  "  Book- 
lover's." 

It  was  almost  two  weeks  later  that  Freda,  coming 
in  after  six  one  evening,  found  a  note  from  Glenn 
with  the  brief  injunction :  "  Call  Mrs.  Latimer." 

She  took  down  the  telephone  in  a  little  flutter  of 
expectancy.  The  voice  of  the  colored  maid  came  over 
the  wire.  "  Mrs.  Latimer  is  dressing  and  can't  come 
to  the  'phone,  but  she  toF  me  when  you  called,  to  say 
that  she  is  giving  a  dinner  party  tonight  downtown, 
and  if  you  can  go,  they'll  come  for  you  at  seven." 

While  Freda  put  on  the  little  rose-colored  dress 
which  Doris  had  helped  her  buy,  she  wondered 
whether  Norman  Brewster  would  be  one  of  the 
party.  It  had  been  surprisingly  difficult  to  keep  him 
in  the  background  of  her  thoughts  during  the  past 
days,  and  she  told  herself  contritely  that  she  had  been 
too  peremptory  in  her  refusal  of  the  pier  engagement. 

She  was  almost  dressed  when  she  saw  the  Latimer 
car  draw  up  at  the  front  steps.  A  moment  later  Doris 
came  up  to  see  if  she  could  help  with  the  last 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  325 

touches.  "  You  do  look  like  a  darling,  Fredrica," 
she  decreed,  surveying  her  protegee  in  the  light  of  the 
little  hallway.  "  That  hair  store  certainly  taught  you 
how  to  make  the  most  of  that  glorious  crown  of 
yours.  I  wanted  you  to  look  your  best  tonight.  This 
is  a  celebration." 

"Of  what?" 

"  Oh,  I  thought  Nita  told  you  at  the  'phone.  It's  the 
doctor's  birthday,  and  I  insist  upon  his  taking  this 
one  evening  off.  We're  going  to  Radcliffe's.  I've 
never  heard  your  friend,  Miss  Markley,  play,  you 
know.  And  anyway  Radcliffe's  is  the  only  place  for 
a  party  like  this.  There  will  be  just  us  four.  I'm 
so  glad  you  could  come  at  the  last  minute  this  way. 
Of  course  my  life  is  an  entirely  impromptu  affair.  I 
never  know  when  I  can  have  my  husband  nor  for  how 
long.  But  I  'phoned  Miss  Markley  to  have  a  table 
reserved  for  us,  so  I  think  there  will  be  no  hitch  about 
that." 

The  Radcliffe  trio  were  playing  their  first  number 
when  the  Latimer  dinner  party  entered.  The  table 
which  Glenn  had  reserved  for  them  was  ideally  located 
in  a  corner  opposite  the  messanine  floor,  where,  aided 
by  the  cunningly  arranged  mirrors,  they  could  see  the 
entire  stretch  of  candle-lighted  tables. 

To  Freda  it  was  a  brilliant  scene ;  its  diners  festive, 
with  the  subdued  gaiety  of  well-bred  people;  its 
waiters  gliding  about  as  noiselessly  as  film  actors,  its 


326  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

musicians  half  hidden  behind  feathery  clumps  of 
bamboo,  playing  an  all-pervasive  but  never  obtrusive 
accompaniment  to  the  hum  of  conversation.  From 
across  the  table,  Doris  Latimer,  the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  the  room,  smiled  at  her.  The  doctor,  keen- 
eyed,  distinguished,  authoritative,  clipped  out  orders 
to  the  waiter,  and  Norman  Brewster,  so  completely  at 
his  ease  in  this  environment,  looked  at  her  with  eyes 
that  seemed  to  see  no  one  else. 

It  seemed  to  her,  sitting  there  in  that  softly  lighted 
room,  the  guest  of  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
specialists  in  the  state,  chaperoned  by  a  woman  who 
represented  San  Francisco  at  its  very  best,  that  she 
had  reached  at  last  the  goal  toward  which  she  had 
been  groping  through  long,  painful  years.  To  estab- 
lish for  herself  a  place  in  the  society  of  respectable 
people  had  been  her  passionate  purpose.  This  corner 
table  at  Radcliffe's  was  the  material  evidence  of  her 
hard-won  success. 

Several  of  the  incoming  diners  stopped  at  the 
Latimers'  table  to  exchange  greetings.  Norman 
Brewster  seemed  to  know  them  all.  One,  a  tall  man 
with  eyebrows  that  met  over  his  nose,  and  gave  to 
his  thin  face  an  expression  of  perpetual  astonishment, 
lingered  longer  than  the  others. 

"How  is  it  coming?"  Norman  Brewster  inquired. 
"  I  hear  you've  just  made  a  new  contract  with  the 
Orpheum.  Why  don't  you  try  the  east  first?" 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  327 

The  other  man  shook  his  head.  "No,  it  might 
change  my  luck.  Anyway  San  Francisco  is  the  best 
first-night  test  I  know.  If  it  gets  by  here,  it's  pretty 
sure  to  be  a  go." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  Norman  Brewster  was  look- 
ing at  him  speculatively.  "  Well,  you  ought  to  know. 
Good  luck  to  it." 

The  man  smiled  and  passed  on.  "  That's  Hadley," 
Norman  Brewster  explained.  "He's  writing  skits 
for  the  Orpheum  circuit  and  making  a  mint  of 
money." 

"  He  ought  to  put  more  of  it  inside  of  him,"  the 
doctor  commented.  "  He  looks  like  an  advertisement 
for  the  starvation  cure,  '  after  taking.' ' 

The  waiter  had  reappeared,  and  through  a  succes- 
sion of  mysterious  courses  they  talked  of  the  celeb- 
rities dining  about  the  room,  and  drank  the  doc- 
tor's health.  It  was  a  gay  little  party,  and  Fre- 
da's eyes  sparkled  with  the  excited  happiness  of  a 
child. 

Down  the  aisle  at  the  fourth  table  from  theirs,  a 
waiter  was  clearing  away  the  dishes  and  making  a 
place  for  an  incoming  couple.  She  watched  him  with 
abstracted  eyes.  For  she  could  see  no  one  on  this 
happy,  brilliant  evening  but  the  man  who  sat  beside 
her,  and  whose  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  with  a  light 
so  unmistakable  burning  in  their  depths. 

"I  should  think  San  Francisco  would  be  such  a 


328  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

difficult  place  for  any  kind  of  artistic  work,"  Doris 
was  saying.  "  It's  like  a  big,  boisterous  pleasure 
ground,  always  calling  people  to  come  out  and  play. 
And  yet  many  of  the  people  here  tonight  are  doing 
that  kind  of  work." 

"  No,  most  of  them  have  done  it  elsewhere  and 
have  come  here  to  frolic  during  their  recess  time," 
her  husband  interposed.  "  A  lot  of  them  look  like 
people  with  tired  nerves  who  have  come  here " 

He  broke  off  suddenly,  his  gaze  riveted  upon  a  cou- 
ple who  were  seating  themselves  at  the  fourth  table 
on  the  next  aisle.  Up  to  this  time  his  survey  of  the 
diners  had  been  casual.  Now  he  spoke  in  slow-voiced 
amazement.  "  Well,  I'll  be  hanged !  "  He  turned  to 
his  wife,  with  that  irresistible  impulse  for  sharing 
every  emotion,  which  is  instinctive  with  perfectly 
mated  people. 

"  Do  you  recognize  that  man  at  the  fourth  table  on 
the  right?  "  he  demanded. 

Freda  followed  his  glance.  It  rested  for  a  fleeting 
instant  upon  the  morose  face  of  a  large,  heavy- 
featured  man  with  restless,  unhappy  eyes,  and  then 
passed  on  with  casual  interest  to  his  companion. 

"Why — why,  that's  Eileen  Morton's  husband! 
That's  Tom  Morton,  isn't  it?"  Doris  whispered. 

Her  husband  nodded.  "  What  the  devil  is  he  doing 

in  a  place  like  this?  I  don't  know  though He 

used  to  be  somebody  in  the  old  days;  an  early  San 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  329 

Franciscan  feels  that  he  can  break  in  anywhere.  But 
with  a  woman  like " 

"  Radcliffe's  isn't  as  exclusive  as  it  used  to  be/' 
Norman  Brewster  cut  in  indolently.  "  It's  beginning 
to  cater  to  the  nouveau  riche.  Can't  blame  them 
either.  I  was  in  here  the  other  day  with  Treke,  the 
artist,  you  know,  and  we  both  commented " 

His  voice  seemed  to  Freda  to  die  away  into  a  dis- 
tant whisper.  The  gay  little  dinner  party  vanished 
from  her  consciousness  as  though  the  fatal  hour  of  dis- 
enchantment had  struck.  She  could  see  nothing  in  the 
room  save  that  couple  at  the  fourth  table.  She  saw 
the  waiter  bring  them  two  glasses  of  beer.  The  man 
drank  his  with  a  sort  of  sullen  enjoyment  and  the 
woman  with  avidity,  as  one  long  denied.  In  another 
moment  she  knew  that  the  woman's  eyes  would  fall 
upon  her.  She  shrank  from  them  as  from  a  blow  and' 
yet  she  could  not  tear  her  gaze  away.  A  second  glass 
was  poured  for  the  woman.  She  raised  it  and  started 
to  drink,  smiling  at  the  man  across  the  brim.  But  his 
glance  was  traveling  restlessly  around  the  room  as 
though  he  were  trying  to  re-establish  half -forgotten 
memories.  Suddenly  it  rested  upon  the  party  at  the 
corner  table.  There  was  a  gleam  of  swift  recognition. 
He  returned  the  doctor's  curt  nod  and  spoke  quickly 
to  his  companion.  The  eyes  of  the  woman  followed 
his.  One  by  one  they  took  in  the  quartet.  First 
the  doctor,  then  Doris,  then,  more  lingeringly, 


330  THE  CORNER  TABLE 

Norman  Brewster.  And  then  at  last  they  fell  upon 
her. 

For  a  long  moment  they  held  each  other  in  a  sort 
of  visual  death  grip.  When  she  was  released,  Freda 
dropped  her  eyes  to  the  tablecloth.  She  knew  that  she 
had  paled  beneath  that  encounter.  She  knew  also, 
without  looking  at  them,  that  the  eyes  of  the  entire 
party  were  upon  her.  She  knew,  without  seeing  too, 
that  the  woman  had  leaned  across  the  table  and  was 
speaking  hurriedly  to  her  companion. 

Through  Freda's  brain  whirled  a  jargon  of  hideous 
possibilities.  She  assured  herself  that  she  could  en- 
dure anything,  anything  at  all  if  it  only  might  be 
postponed.  But  not  here;  not  before  these  people. 
She  was  not  aware  that  this  was  a  prayer,  an  inarticu- 
late little  plea  for  mercy.  It  was  only  when  she  re- 
called it  afterward  that  she  knew  that  it  had  been.  In 
the  moment  that  elapsed  she  braced  herself  for  a 
casual  explanation.  But  it  was  never  uttered. 

She  heard  a  chair  grate  on  the  bare  floor,  and  then 
approaching  footsteps.  Norman  Brewster  rose  and 
stood  by  Freda's  chair  in  an  attitude  unconsciously 
protecting.  But  the  woman  looked  at  none  of  the 
others.  She  came  straight  to  the  girl  and  bent  over 
the  back  of  her  chair.  "  I  couldn't  believe  at  first  that 
it  was  really  you,  girlie,"  she  said  with  an  embar- 
rassed effort  at  cordiality.  "  My !  How  you've 
changed!  But  I  won't  bother  you  now  while  you're 


THE  CORNER  TABLE  331 

here  with  your  friends.  But  before  you  go  out,  meet 
me  for  a  minute  in  the  dressing  room.  I've  got  some- 
thin'  to  tell  you  about — about  one  of  the  family." 

She  moved  away.  And  still  the  girl  sat  like  a 
statue.  She  was  dimly  conscious  that  Norman 
Brewster  resumed  his  seat  and  that  the  group  around 
the  table  began  at  once  to  talk  of  other  things.  When 
the  dessert  course  was  served,  she  leaned  across  the 
table  and  spoke  in  a  low  voice  to  Doris.  "  I  don't 
care  for  any  coffee,  and  I  think  it  would  be  better  for 
me  to  speak  to — to  that  woman  now,  so  that  I  won't 
keep  you  waiting  afterward." 

"  Must  you  speak  to  her  ?  Why  not  ignore  it  ?  "  It 
was  the  doctor  who  spoke  in  his  tone  of  quick  au- 
thority. 

"She  is  some  one  that  I  used  to  know,"  Freda 
answered  quietly.  "  I  think  I  must  see  her  for  a 
moment." 

"Shall  I  come  with  you,  dear?"  Doris  asked. 

But  Norman  Brewster  had  risen  and  was  waiting 
for  her.  Together  they  walked  down  the  long  room, 
the  girl  unconscious  that  many  glances  followed  them. 
"  Please  don't  wait,"  she  said  when  they  had  reached 
the  lobby.  "  Go  back  and  finish  your  dessert.  I  will 
be  ready  by  the  time  you  are  through." 

And  then  she  turned  and  hurried  into  the  heavily 
curtained  room  where  Aurelia  Hendricks  was  waiting. 


PART   EIGHT:   ON   TRIAL 


XVI 

AT  the  door  of  Radcliffe's  dressing  room  a  uni- 
formed maid  came  forward  to  offer  Freda  assistance. 
The  softly  lighted  room,  the  dressing  tables  with 
their  wide  mirrors,  the  strains  of  distant  music,  all 
these  seemed  at  that  moment  to  blend  into  a  concen- 
trated essence,  a  tiny  phial  of  the  perfume  of  life  which 
for  a  few  brief  weeks  she  had  been  allowed  to  hold  in 
her  hand.  And  then,  from  the  heart  of  this  night- 
blooming  cereus,  a  poisonous  insect  crawled. 

Aurelia  stepped  out  of  the  shadows  to  meet  her. 
She  was  dressed  in  an  apple-green  silk  gown,  so  close- 
fitting  that  she  seemed  to  be  bursting  out  of  it.  Over 
her  arm  she  carried  a  black  wrap  with  solferino  lining. 
Her  hat  was  wide,  black,  and  freighted  with  ostrich 
plumes.  The  whole  costume  was  obviously  new, 
ready-made,  and  hastily  acquired. 

By  common  consent  the  two  turned  toward  the 
heavily  upholstered  window  seat  in  a  far  corner  of 
the  room,  and  the  discreet  maid  retired  to  an  adjoin- 
ing alcove.  For  a  moment  neither  of  them  spoke. 
Each  measured  the  other  with  a  woman's  expertly  ap- 
praising glance.  "  I  didn't  realize  that  she  looked — 
like  this,"  Freda  was  telling  herself  with  a  gasp. 

335 


336  ON  TRIAL 

"  Up  there  she  didn't  seem  to  look  so — but  I  suppose 
I  didn't  realize  it  then." 

Aurelia' s  voice,  which  rasped  under  unaccustomed 
restraint,  assailed  her.  "  My  Lord,  girlie,  how  pretty 
you've  got!  I  always  told  your  father  that  if  you 
could  have  the  right  kind  of  clothes  you'd  be  a  heart- 
smasher.  I'll  bet  you've  had " 

"Aurelia,  you  told  me  that  you  had  news  for  me 
from  home.  I  wanted  to  hear  about  my  father.  Not 
for  any  other  reason  would  I  have  met  you  here.  It 
— cost  me  something  to  come.  What  have  you  to  tell 
me?" 

Aurelia  followed  her  lead  with  voluble  good  humor. 
"Had  any  letters  from  Rocky  Cove?" 

"  Not  lately.  Avery  writes  to  me  occasionally  and 
I  have  tried  to  keep  up  my  end  of  the  correspondence. 
But  he  has  told  me  only  about  his  own  family." 

"  Well,  if  Avery's  written  he's  probably  told  you  all 
the  bad  news — about  the  apple  blight,  and  the  strike 
at  the  Landin'  House,  and  what  trouble  everybody's 
had  with  help." 

Freda  nodded. 

"  Things  have  sorter  gone  from  bad  to  worse  these 
last  few  months.  Your  father's  had  to  sell  a  lot  of 
the  live  stock  to  keep  things  goin'.  And  he's  put  a 
mortgage  on  the  ranch  again.  But  he  thinks  he  can 
scrape  through  now  till  the  new  crop's  sold,  if  all 
extra  expense  is  cut  out." 


ON  TRIAL  337 

She  laughed  with  cynical  mirth.  "Well,  I'm  an 
extra  expense.  Avery  and  Nina  has  moved  up  to  the 
big  house  now  so  that  makes  things  easier  all  around. 
They  always  wanted  it  fixed  like  that,  and  I " 

Freda  felt  a  wild  impulse  to  seize  one  of  this 
woman's  thick  hands  and  wring  it  in  grateful  joy. 
"You  mean  that  you've  left  the  ranch  for  good, 
Aurelia?"  she  cried.  "You  mean  you've  left  West 
Winds?" 

Aurelia  leaned  toward  her,  striving  to  suppress  the 
raucous  eagerness  of  her  voice.  "  That's  what  I  want 
to  ask  you,  girlie.  That's  why  I  made  this  date  with 
you.  Whether  I've  left  there  for  good  or  not  is  up 
to  you." 

Freda  waited,  bewildered,  a  deadly  coldness  coiling 
itself  serpentlike  about  her  heart. 

"  You  don't  know  much  about  my  past  life.  Your 
father  didn't  either.  He  was  lonesome  and  wanted 
somebody  to  cheer  him  up.  That  was  all  there  ever 
was  to  it  for  him.  And  he'd  have  married  me  straight 
off  if  it  could  have  been  done.  Maybe  you  know  a 
few  more  things  now  than  you  did  when  you  left, 
Freda,  and  if  you  do,  you  know  that  your  father  ain't 
a  bad  man.  He's  a  pretty  good  man,  as  men  go,  and 
for  that  reason  an  easy  mark.  I  wanted  a  home.  I 
was  tired  of  knockin'  around  hotels.  So  I — well,  any- 
way, we  couldn't  be  married  and  he  says  he  told  you 
why  that  day  out  on  the  Landin'.  I  was  already  a 


338  ON  TRIAL 

married  woman.  The  man  I'm  with  tonight  is  my 
husband." 

Still  Freda  waited.  The  coils  seemed  to  be  tight- 
ening about  her. 

"  We  was  married  five  years  ago  in  Colorado.  He 
was  well  off,  and  slippery  handed  with  money.  He 
give  me  all  I  wanted  to  spend  and  we  was  happy. 
Then  one  day  he  had  a  accident  at  the  mine.  Some- 
thin*  hit  him  on  the  head.  The  doctors  fixed  him  up 
and  said  he  was  all  right,  but  he  never  was  the  same 
again.  He'd  forget  things,  and  he  began  to  make 
wild  deals  and  in  no  time  at  all  he  lost  all  we  had. 
Well,  I  never  was  cut  out  to  be  a  nurse,  and  when  I 
told  him  I  was  goin'  to  leave,  he  didn't  put  up  any  talk. 
He  was  always  terrible  serious-minded  and  has  cranky 
ideas.  He  didn't  want  me  to  get  a  divorce.  He's  a 
Catholic  and  has  a  superstition  or  something  against 
it.  That  suited  me  all  right  anyway.  I  didn't  want 
one.  But  I  wanted  to  cut  loose  from  an  uncertain 
proposition  like  him,  and  I  did.  I  went  to  Four 
Corners,  where  I  knew  I  wasn't  the  only  person  who 
had  a  past.  One  of  my  friends  out  in  Colorado  used* 
to  write  me  about  him,  and  I  heard  he  was  finally 
locked  up,  and  then  had  been  turned  loose  and  was 
back  in  San  Francisco,  which  is  his  old  home.  Then  I 
lost  sight  of  him  for  awhile.  Well,  a  few  months  ago 
I  picked  the  paper  out  of  the  mail  sack  and  got  a 
shock.  There  was  his  name  and  picture  on  the  second 


ON  TRIAL  339 

page,  with  a  big  write-up  about  a  man  of  one  of  the 
city's  pioneer  families  '  comin'  back '  after  bein'  in  an 
asylum  almost  two  years.  Well,  I  got  curious,  and  I 
came  down  here  to  the  city  and  put  a  detective  on  his 
track.  He  followed  him  out  to  Colorado  and  pretty 
soon  I  got  word  that  one  of  those  deals  of  his  had 
turned  out  to  be  a  bonanza.  He's  got  a  mine  that'll  net' 
us  a  fortune.  But,"  her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper  that 
was  like  a  hiss,  "I  found  out  somethin'  else  too.  I 
found  out  that  he'd  forgot  me  clean  as  a  whistle  during 
those  years  he'd  been  loony.  He  thought  he  was  a  free 
man.  Honest  to  God,  I  believe  he  really  did.  And  he 
married  another  woman." 

Freda  turned  on  her  with  sudden  passion.  "  Why 
do  you  tell  me  this  hideous  story,  Aurelia  ?  How  dare 
you  tell  it  to  me?  That  girl  is  a  friend  of  mine.  I'm 
glad  to  know  that  she  is  free  at  last.  But  you  and  he 
between  you  have  ruined  years  of  her  life,  as  you  ruin 
everything  you  touch." 

"  Free  is  the  word,"  she  agreed  eagerly.  "  I  know 
she's  a  friend  of  yours.  I  know  where  she  worked 
and  all " 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  of  me  then?" 

"  Just  this.  Tom  Morton  belongs  to  me.  I  didn't 
divorce  him  like  many  women  would  have  done.  I 
stuck  to  him  and  now  I  ought  to  get  my  reward.  I'm 
tryin'  to  win  him  back.  He  was  struck  all  of  a  heap 
when  I  came  back  to  him.  He's  kinder  in  a  daze  and 


340  ON  TRIAL 

talks  wild  about  this  Eileen  woman.  He  says  she's 
the  one  who  has  kep'  him  off  charity  and  give  him  his 
chance.  He  says  he's  repaid  her  with  a  wrong,  though 
he  didn't  know  it  before,  and  that  he'll  find  some  way 
to  give  her  what  a  wife  ought  to  have  of  his  money. 
I'm  tryin'  to  cheer  him  up ;  takin'  him  around  to  swell 
places  like  this  that  he  used  to  go  to.  But  he's  an  un- 
grateful devil.  He  tol'  me  today  " — she  shot  a  swift 
glance  in  the  direction  of  the  alcove — "  he  tol'  me 
today  that  he  had  a  detective  at  work  too.  He's 
tryin'  to  find  out  about  me!  He's  tryin'  to  find  the 
only  grounds  that  he  can  have  for  a  divorce."  She 
wrung  her  hands  in  a  passion  of  anxiety.  "If  he 
gets  it — on  those  grounds,  I  won't  get  a  cent  of  that 
money.  I'll  be  left  with  only  the  half  that " 

"Well,  what  do  I  care  about  it  all?"  Freda  chal- 
lenged. "  You  brought  misery  and  disgrace  into  my 
home.  You  desecrated  my  mother's  memory  and 
made  my  father's  name  a  thing  of  loathing  to  me. 
You  have  done  all  this  for  me.  What  are  you  going  to 
ask  me  to  do  for  you?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  take  my  side ! "  Aurelia  cried 
fiercely.  "  You'll  be  the  star  witness  in  this  case  if  it 
comes  to  the  courts,  and  I  want  you  to  swear — that 
it  ain't  true.  You  say  I've  made  your  father's  name 
a  disgrace  to  you.  Well,  I  come  to  you  now  offerin' 
you  a  way  to  clear  it  clean  as  a  slate.  Avery  and 
Nina  have  always  been  on  my  side." 


ON  TRIAL  341 

All  the  indolent  good-humor  had  died  out  of  her 
voice  now.  Her  face  was  drawn  into  tense,  hard  lines 
and  her  eyes  desperate  as  she  laid  her  last  card  face 
up  on  the  table. 

"  I  didn't  tell  you  this  before,  but  I'm  goin'  to  tell 
you  now.  Avery  and  Nina  lost  their  place  last  month. 
It  was  foreclosed  on  'em.  He'll  never  be  much  of  a 
success.  He's  got  it  in  him  all  right,  but  he  mar- 
ried the  wrong  kind  of  woman.  Anyhow  he's  dis- 
couraged and  got  your  father  to  take  him  in.  He 
said  he  was  through  with  Avery,  but  I  made  him  do 
it.  And  I  get  what  I  want  up  there,  because  it's  my 
money  that  has  been  runnin'  that  place  for  the  past 
six  months,  and  that'll  carry  it  till  the  apples  is  sold. 
I  gave — I  gave  'em  all  I  had.  Maybe  they'll  pay  it 
back,  but  if  Tom  Morton  sticks  to  me,  I  won't  care 
whether  they  do  or  not.  He  can  have  it  as  a  partin' 
gift  from  me.  So  everybody  in  your  family  is  on  my 
side.  The  keenest  lawyer  that  ever  lived  couldn't 
knife  the  truth  out  of  'em.  And  nobody  at  Four 
Corners  knew  my  real  name.  They  don't  ask  many 
questions  up  there,  for  they'd  all  have  to  answer  a 
few  if  they  started  anything  like  that.  Tom  Morton 
only  sees  one  way  out  of  marriage  by  the  divorce 
court,  and  that  way  is  goin'  to  be  marked  '  No 
Thorofare.'  The  gate's  closed  for  him.  But  it's 
wide  open  to  every  one  of  the  rest  of  us,  girlie.  Your 
father  has  settled  down  to  a  quiet,  respectable  life  with 


342  ON  TRIAL 

his  own  family.  I  get  out  of  his  way  forever,  and 
you  ain't  got  a  thing  to  hide.  It  won't  ever  come  into 
the  courts  at  all  when  you  folks  give  your  testimony 
on  the  side.  Tom  Morton  don't  want  any  more  adver- 
tisin',  and  God  knows  I  don't,  and  ii  that  friend  of 
yours  wants  to  be  free  to " 

But  Freda  was  not  listening  to  the  torrent  of 
words.  The  pitiful  last  shred  of  loyalty  which  she 
had  treasured  for  her  father,  the  oft-reiterated  as- 
surance to  herself  that  though  he  was  weak,  he  was 
never  despicable,  had  been  rent  asunder  and  she  sat 
gazing  upon  its  ragged  remnants.  She  heard  a  color- 
less, dead  voice  speaking  through  her.  "  And  they 
are  willing — my  father  is  willing,  to  accept  '  respecta- 
bility '  as  you  call  it — on  those  terms  ?  " 

"What  else  is  there  for  'em  to  do,  girlie?  If  I'm 
willin'  to  hand  'em  out  money  like  that,  why  it's  my 
look-out.  And,"  a  sudden  anger  possessed  her,  "  it's 
just  as  much  to  your  advantage  as  mine  to  hush  this 
thing  up.  That  handsome,  high-brow  feller  you're 
with  tonight  wants  to  marry  you.  I  could  see  it  in 
his  eyes  as  he  stood  beside  you  at  the  table.  Trust 
me  to  know.  Nobody  can  size  up  a  situation  of  that 
kind  quicker  than  a  woman  like  me.  You  got  a  top- 
notcher,  Freda,  when  you  landed  him.  But  believe 
me,  a  man  of  his  kind  isn't  goin'  to  marry  any  girl 
that's  got  a  black  string  tied  to  her  name.  He  may 


ON  TRIAL  343 

think  he  will  when  he's  with  you,  but  don't  you  bet 
anything  on  it." 

She  rose  and  stood  over  the  girl  like  an  Amazonian 
representation  of  Fate.  "  It's  up  to  you,"  she  finished. 
"  It's  up  to  you,  and  you  can  decide  any  time  before 
next  Monday." 

Back  in  the  quiet  of  the  little  apartment  that  night, 
Freda  gave  herself  up  to  torturing  conjectures  con- 
cerning the  future.  It  was  not  indecision  that  racked 
her,  for  Aurelia's  frenzied  plans  seemed  too  prepos- 
terous for  anything  save  weary  incredulity.  But  the 
outcome  of  the  miserable  story,  the  probable  results 
of  its  disclosure  upon  her  own  life,  terrified  her. 
What  would  Norman  Brewster,  of  the  D wight 
Brewsters,  think  of  it  all? 

Facing  this  question  in  the  sheltering  privacy  of 
night,  she  could  not  give  her  eager  heart  the  answer 
for  which  it  clamored.  Her  own  experience  in  life 
could  not  justify  her  passionate  defense  of  this  man's 
loyalty.  Why,  for  reasons  much  less  vindicating  than 
this,  she  had  seen  other  women,  finer  than  herself, 
forgotten  or  supplanted  without  a  ripple  on  the  sur- 
face of  a  man's  emotional  life. 

And  in  that  moment,  while  she  faced  the  fear  of 
losing  him,  she  realized  that  she  loved  Norman 
Brewster.  She  made  no  attempt  to  hide  the  knowl- 
edge from  herself  now.  Love,  that  jewel  more 


344  ON  TRIAL 

luminous  than  any  betraying  light,  greater  than  any 
heart  that  it  has  ever  possessed,  transcending  the 
bounds  which  any  secrecy  would  build  about  it — 
where  and  how  may  such  treasure  be  concealed  ?  And 
perhaps  she  knew  it  better  now  because  she  had  once 
mistaken  it.  But  always  in  the  pictures  of  love  which 
she  had  drawn,  she  had  seen  him  as  a  radiant,  trans- 
forming being,  a  master  alchemist,  at  the  magic  of 
whose  touch  the  leaden  hues  of  life  were  transmuted 
into  precious  gold.  And  now  he  had  come  to  her, 
beautiful,  but  with  the  somber  beauty  of  mists  and 
clouds  and  leafless  trees. 

She  had  felt  certain  that  evening  that  Norman 
Brewster  loved  her,  and  the  knowledge  had  made  her 
shy,  silent,  a  little  fearful  of  herself  and  of  him. 
It  seemed  almost  too  much  to  hope  and  yet,  that  night 
on  the  ferry,  she  had  begun  to  suspect  that  he  might 
care  for  her.  Certainly  he  had  never  told  her  so. 
There  had  been  no  sentimental  scenes  in  these  happy 
months  of  their  friendship.  But  they  had  understood 
each  other  so  well.  It  had  been  a  wonderful  thing,  an 
almost  unbelievable  thing  that  any  one  should  under- 
stand so  well.  But  now  that  the  time  of  testing  was 
at  hand,  she  shrank  from  it  with  the  convulsive  dread 
of  disillusionment. 

"I  can't  endure  it!"  she  cried  passionately,  and 
pressed  her  hands  against  her  head  as  though  to  shut 
out  the  crucial  thought.  "  If  he  isn't — if  he  isn't  all 


ON  TRIAL  345 

I  think  he  is,  I'd  rather  not  know  it.  I'd  rather  never 
know  it.  It's  better  to  believe  than  to  know !  " 

She  recalled  his  face  as  she  had  seen  it  that  eve- 
ning; handsome,  distinguished,  intellectual,  with  eyes 
that  seemed  to  see  no  one  but  her.  Aurelia's  vulgar 
comments  had  made  her  quiver,  had  seemed  to  saw 
their  way  through  her  consciousness,  leaving  an  ugly, 
jagged  path  down  which  her  tumultuous  thoughts 
groped  a  tortuous  way.  Why  had  this  woman  come 
back  into  her  life  again?  Would  she  never  be  free 
from  the  horror  of  the  past?  It  seemed  to  have  a 
cancerous  clutch  upon  her  very  life. 

She  heard  Glenn  come  in,  moving  softly  so  as  not 
to  waken  her.  And  she  did  not  stir.  But  long  after 
the  light  in  the  adjoining  room  vanished,  she  lay 
awake  staring  at  the  years  of  the  future.  As 
Aurelia's  aggressively  voluptuous  figure  rose  again 
before  her,  there  came  to  her,  with  the  swiftness  of 
an  electric  shock,  the  sickening  realization  that,  but 
for  the  intervention  of  an  invisible  hand,  she  herself 
would  have  been  rated  in  the  class  with  that  woman. 
Vulgar,  sordid,  self-seeking  as  were  the  motives  of 
this  confessed  parasite,  sacrificial  as  had  been  her 
own,  she  knew  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  that 
world  so  indifferent  to  motives,  so  alert  for  evil,  she 
and  Aurelia  Morton  would  have  had  equal  rank. 

But  she  had  conquered,  or  some  one  else  had  con- 
quered for  her.  She  had  lived  down  her  disgraceful 


346  ON  TRIAL 

heritage,  had  lived  through  it,  over  it,  beyond  it.  Con- 
cerning the  "  black  string  "  tied  to  her  name  she  was 
disdainfully  indifferent.  That  crucial  conflict  had 
given  her  a  new  dignity.  No  sordid  scandal  could  rob 
her  of  it.  The  glaring  spotlight  of  degrading  pub- 
licity might  sicken  but  could  not  burn  her. 

Of  all  this  she  was  certain.  But  though  she 
fed  its  comfort  to  her  heart  with  a  lavish  hand,  morn- 
ing found  her  hollow-eyed  and  listless.  The  day  at 
the  "  Booklover's  "  dragged.  She  gave  its  customers 
her  usual  courteous,  sympathetic  attention,  but  for  the 
first  time  her  interest  in  books  was  feigned.  During 
the  noon  hour  she  went  to  the  hotel  to  see  Eileen. 

She  found  her  sorting  over  a  pile  of  clothes  beside 
an  open  trunk.  And  she  saw,  to  her  infinite  relief, 
that  she  knew  all  the  details  of  the  story  which  she 
had  come  to  discuss  with  her. 

"  Tom  came  to  see  me  last  week  and  made  a  clean 
breast  of  everything,"  she  explained,  clearing  off  the 
only  rocker  in  the  room  and  settling  her  visitor  in  it. 
She  stood  before  her,  folding  and  refolding  with  inat- 
tentive fingers  the  delicate  waist  in  her  hands.  "  I 
wouldn't  hardly  have  known  him,  Freda,"  she  went 
on,  a  note  of  awed  solemnity  in  her  tone.  "  It's  al- 
most— it's  almost  awful  for  a  man  to  have  as  much 
power  as  that  Doctor  Latimer.  It  makes  him  seem — 
almost  like  God.  Tom  ain't  the  same  at  all.  I  be- 
lieve it's  God's  truth  that  he  didn't  know  he  had 


ON  TRIAL  347 

another  wife.  He  wants  to  be  square.  He  wants  ter- 
ribly to  be  square  with  me — to  make  it  up  to  me." 
She  smiled,  a  dry  twisted  little  smile.  "  Ain't  it  funny 
the  way  men  are?  How  they  think  their  money  can 
make  up  to  a  woman  for  everything?  I  wouldn't 
touch  a  cent  of  it  if  I  was  starvin'.  And  if  I  would, 
George  wouldn't  let  me." 

"Oh,  Eileen!"  Freda  forgot  everything  save  joy 
for  this  other  woman  who  was  her  friend.  "  Oh, 
Eileen,  are  you — is  he ?" 

Eileen  nodded  and  laid  the  waist  in  the  tray  of  the 
trunk  with  elaborate  carefulness.  When  she  turned 
about,  her  face  was  glowing.  Freda  told  herself  that 
it  was  beautiful. 

"  We're  goin'  to  be  married  now  and  go  away  and 
start  life  all  over." 

Freda's  arms  were  around  her.  "  Oh,  I'm  so  glad, 
dear.  You  have  been  so  brave !  I'm  glad,  glad !  " 

"  It  ain't  really  me  that's  been  brave,"  Eileen  told 
.her.  "  I  would  have — oh,  I  don't  know  what  I'd 
have  done,  but  George  wouldn't  let  me.  He  always 
held  me  up.  He  always  told  me  that  some  day  we 
could  be  happy  in  the  right  way.  I  don't  know 

whether  he  believed  it  all  of  the  time  himself,  but " 

She  drew  herself  away  and  looked  into  the  girl's  eyes 
with  a  great  humility  shining  in  her  own.  "  Oh, 
Freda,  it's  a  wonderful  thing  to  love  a  strong  man! 
It's  wonderful  to  have  a  real  man  love  you !  " 


348  ON  TRIAL 

"  It  must  be." 

Freda  was  not  aware  that  her  voice  held  a  note  of 
bitterness,  but  Eileen's  alert  ear  caught  it  and  her 
shrewd  eyes  measured  the  girl  quickly.  "  Kiddo,"  she 
said,  "  I  know  the  girls  at  Peltier's  used  to  call  me  the 
human  ferret,  but  you  can't  say  that  I've  ever  tried  to 
worm  any  information  out  of  you  that  you  didn't  want 
to  give.  I  liked  you  just  as  you  stood,  and  the  first 
week  I  knew  you  I  could  tell  that  there  was  goin'  to 
be  rocks  ahead  for  you  alone  in  a  city.  I  kind  of — 
wanted  to  take  care  of  you,  kiddo,  and  I  knew — that 
I'd  have  competition  in  that  line.  Well,  there  wasn't 
much  I  could  do,  there's  not  much  any  of  us  can  do, 
for  when  you  come  right  down  to  it,  we  go  it  alone 
in  this  life.  But  one  thing  I  want  to  say:  If  men 
haven't  turned  out  to  be  all  you  thought  they  were, 
don't  get  down  on  life." 

She  paused,  searching  for  words  to  convey  her  com- 
fort. 

"  It's  like  this,  kiddo.  It's  like  bein'  turned  loose 
in  a  candy  store  blindfolded  and  told  to  help  yourself. 
Your  hand  falls  on  a  tray  and  you  pick  out  a  piece 
and  taste  it — horehound.  Smooth  on  the  outside  and 
very  sweet,  but  hard,  and  leavin'  a  kind  of  tang  in 
your  mouth.  You  move  on  and  dip  into  another  pile 
— horehound  again,  in  a  different  kind  of  paper  maybe. 
After  you've  tried  another  tray  with  the  same  result, 
you  decide  that  the  whole  stock  is  horehound,  and  go 


ON  TRIAL  349 

out.  And  all  the  time  there  was  other  trays  just 
jammed  with  different  goods.  Your  luck  was  bad — 
and  maybe  your  sense  of  taste  not  very  good.  But 
the  stuff  is  there,  kiddo.  I  tell  you  that  it's  there  and 
if  you  don't  fill  up  on  the  cheaper  grade,  you're  goin' 
to  get  your  share  of  it." 

In  the  weeks  that  followed,  Freda  thought  often  of 
this  assurance.  She  thought  of  it  with  high  courage 
in  the  days  before  the  Morton  divorce  case  was 
brought  into  court,  and  in  sickness  of  heart  when  days 
and  weeks  passed  and  Norman  Brewster  failed  to 
make  even  perfunctory  calls  at  the  "  Booklover's."  He 
had  heard  about  it,  of  course,  and  with  the  first  breath 
of  notoriety  that  touched  her  had  vanished  from  her 
life.  Aurelia  had  been  right.  She  knew  men.  Eileen 
was  wrong.  She  was  in  love. 

And  Freda's  own  prophecy  that  this  case  would 
afford  the  kind  of  scenes  which  court  room  habitues 
love,  was  justified  during  the  early  days  of  the  trial. 
Before  his  mental  collapse,  Tom  Morton  had  been  a 
prominent  figure  in  San  Francisco  sporting  circles, 
and  his  spectacular  restoration  to  sanity,  coupled  with 
the  notorious  career  of  his  wife,  made  him  a  gleam- 
ing prize  for  the  sensation-hungry. 

And  as  is  the  way  of  life,  Aurelia  Morton  did  not 
take  the  consequences  of  her  evil-doing  alone.  Those 
who  had  befriended,  and  those  who  had  condemned 
her,  the  innocent  and  guilty  alike,  were  drawn  into 


350  ON  TRIAL 

the  muddy  stream  which  she  had  willed  to  stir  to  its 
depths.  When  Tom  Morton  dropped  his  dredge  into 
the  murky  pool  of  her  past,  he  drew  up,  not  only  the 
hideous  corpse  for  which  he  searched,  but  a  horde  of 
other  scaly,  discolored  objects  which  clung,  like  barna- 
cles, to  the  rotten  timbers  of  her  existence. 

There  were  pictures  of  the  two  Mortons  in  all  the 
local  papers.  Pictures  also  of  their  prosperous  former 
home  in  Colorado,  and  of  the  Palace  Hotel  at  Four 
Corners. 

"If  they  only  won't  run  a  picture  of  me !  "  Freda 
said  wildly  to  Glenn.  "  If  I  can  only  be  just  a  name 
in  this  awful  story !  " 

"  If  they  do  it  would  be  only  a  snapshot  and  nobody 
would  recognize  it  anyway,  Fred,"  Glenn  comforted. 
"  It's  the  lawyers,  and  what  they  make  you  say  that 
you've  got  to  look  out  for.  One  such  lawyer  as 
Aurelia's  got,  could  damage  the  reputation  of  the  re- 
cording angel.  It  takes  money  to  shut  'em  up,  Freda. 
It's  like  everything  else,  it's  got  a  price  hitched  to  it." 

And  then  came  at  last  the  fateful  day  when  Tom 
Morton's  star  witness  was  called  into  the  spotlight, 
and  it  seemed  to  her,  as  she  took  the  stand,  that  every 
one  in  the  world  had  crowded  into  that  close,  ugly 
room  to  batten  upon  her  misery. 

"Your   full  name?" 

The  words  were  snapped  at  her  by  a  ferret- faced 
man  with  eyes  which  seemed  sharp  enough  to  pick  out 


ON  TRIAL  351 

any  information  without  the  clumsy  aid  of  language. 
When  she  had  given  it  and  her  address,  he  settled 
back  into  his  chair  as  though  seeking  the  most  com- 
fortable position  for  what  promised  to  be  a  long 
journey. 

"  Please  remove  your  veil/' 

The  demand  seemed  unnecessarily  brutal  and  her 
fingers  trembled  a  little  as  they  groped  for  the  fugitive 
ends,  and  she  tore  away  the  thin  film  which  had  of- 
fered meager  protection  from  that  sea  of  eyes. 

"  Do  you  know  this  woman  ?  " 

He  nodded  to  the  chair  where  Aurelia  sat,  re- 
splendent in  new  purple  tailor  suit,  watching  her  like 
a  malevolent  goddess  of  fate. 

Freda  admitted  the  acquaintance. 

"  Where  did  you  first  become  acquainted  with 
her?" 

"  At  the  Palace  Hotel  in  Four  Corners." 

"What  was  her  reputation  in  that  place?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  You  don't  know?" 

"  I  mean  that— I  didn't  know  then." 

She  had  the  horrible  conviction  now  that  this  ferret- 
faced  man  had  the  power  to  wring  from  her  any  kind 
of  evidence  that  he  wished.  She  wondered,  in  a  sud- 
den panic,  whether,  under  the  gleam  of  those  pitiless 
eyes,  she  would  be  able  to  distinguish  truth  from  false- 
hood. They  seemed  to  have  turned  upon  her  brain  a 


352  ON  TRIAL 

hard  white  light  in  whose  dazzling  glare  all  objects 
were  grotesquely  misshapen. 

"  You  didn't  know  what  her  reputation  was,"  he 
repeated.  "How  often  did  you  go  to  this  Palace 
Hotel?" 

"  About  once  a  week." 

"For  how  long  a  time?" 

"  During  one  summer." 

"And  in  all  that  time  you  never  heard  anything 
about  her — character?"  There  was  a  taunt  in  his 
voice  now.  "You  never  heard  any  comment  upon 
it?" 

Freda  hesitated.  "  Yes.  I— I  suppose  I  did.  But 
I  didn't  pay  much  attention  to  it." 

"  How  old  were  you  then?  " 

"Almost  eighteen." 

"  And  comment  upon  another  woman's  reputation 
didn't  make  any  impression  upon  you?  " 

She  looked  at  him  appealingly.  "  No.  Because — 
I  don't  think  I  understood  it  then." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  "  Did  you  ever  see 
this  woman  in  your  own  home?  " 

Her  reply  was  almost  a  whisper. 

"  Describe  the  occasion  when  you  first  saw  her 
there." 

Freda  had  rehearsed  her  answer  to  this  demand,  and 
she  told  the  story  in  a  few  brief,  steady  sentences. 
But  the  ferret-faced  man  was  evidently  suspicious  of 


ON  TRIAL  353 

their  glibness.  He  went  over  every  point  in  the  nar- 
rative again,  tearing  open  each  detail  and  prying  into 
its  shadowy  depths. 

"  When  your  father  introduced  this  woman  to  you, 
as  you  say  he  did,  did  you  know  what  the  arrange- 
ment between  them  was  ?  " 

"  No.     I  thought " 

"Never  mind  what  you  thought.  Stick  to  the 
facts.  Did  either  of  them  tell  you  that  there  had  been 
a  marriage?  " 

"  No." 

"  And  you  never  asked  for  any  of  the  details  con- 
cerning the  plan?" 

"  No." 

"  That  seems  a  curious  thing.  If  you  had  no  sus- 
picions, why  did  you  avoid  mention  of  the  subject?" 

"  I — don't  believe  that  I  can  explain  that." 

"Why  not?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  hopeless  eyes.  How  could 
there  be  in  all  the  world  such  complete  lack  of  under- 
standing? How  was  it  possible  that  human  beings 
could  torture  each  other  so! 

"  My  father  and  I  were  not "  She  was  groping 

desperately  for  words  to  explain  a  situation  that  not 
until  a  few  brief  months  ago  had  been  explicable  even 
to  herself.  "  We  were  not  on  confidential  terms  with 
each  other.  We " 

"Why  not?" 


354  ON  TRIAL 

The  two  words  seemed  to  come  automatically  now, 
quite  irrespective  of  the  replies  which  they  elicited. 
She  gave  it  up.  "  I  don't  know.'* 

"  Did  you  discover  later  what  the  arrangement  be- 
tween them  was  ?  "  the  inexorable  voice  went  on. 

"  Yes." 

"How  much  later?" 

"  About  four  months." 

"  You  mean  to  say  that  you  lived  under  that  roof 
four  months  and  never  suspected  all  that  time  that 
these  people  were — not  married !  " 

"  Yes." 

"  How  was  it  possible  that  you  didn't  suspect 
it?" 

"  I  didn't  know — this  woman  very  well  and — the 
man — was  my  father." 

A  subdued  murmur  swept  over  the  court  room. 

"  And  how  did  you  finally  discover  it  ?  " 

She  gave  him  another  carefully  rehearsed  reply. 

He  scarcely  waited  for  her  to  finish.  "  And  did 
you  face  your  father  or  this  woman  with  that  story  ?  " 

"Yes.    I— I  asked  him  about  it." 

"What  did  he  say  about  it?" 

She  was  silent,  looking  down  at  the  floor,  praying 
that  he  might  waive  his  right  to  this  question. 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  He  said — he  advised  me — to  leave  my  home." 

"  That  will  do." 


ON  TRIAL  355 

She  knew  that  he  was  waiting  for  her  to  leave  the 
chair,  but  she  felt  powerless  to  move.  "  Could  I  say 
something  else?"  she  entreated.  And  then,  without 
waiting  for  his  permission,  she  hurled  aside,  woman- 
like, every  possible  defense  of  this  other  woman,  and 
turned  to  a  passionate  championship  of  the  man  whom 
she  had  just  condemned,  but  who  was  of  her  own 
blood. 

"  He  wanted  to  marry  her !  "  she  finished  with  des- 
perate eagerness.  "  She  has  admitted  to  me  herself 
that  it  was  she  who — who  made  this  arrangement. 
He  would  have  married  her  if  she  had  only  been  will- 
ing to  free  herself,  but  she  refused,  she  refused  to 
do  it!" 

"  That  will  do." 

She  felt  her  way  blindly  to  the  door,  pulling  with 
futile  fingers  at  the  elusive  veil  which  now  seemed  so 
powerless  to  protect  her.  Outside  the  door,  where 
she  paused  for  an  instant  to  adjust  it,  she  found  her- 
self staring  straight  into  a  black-shrouded  camera.  It 
clicked  exultantly.  But  the  picture  was  never  used. 
For  as  she  hurried  down  the  hall,  she  found  herself 
all  at  once  face  to  face  with  Norman  Brewster. 
"  Wait  for  me,"  he  commanded  without  preliminary 
greeting,  and  stalked  back  to  where  the  group  of 
camera  men  were  clustered  about  the  court  room 
door. 

"  You  needn't  worry  about  them,"  he  told  her  when 


356  ON  TRIAL 

he  returned  a  moment  later.     "  I  don't  think  very 
much   will    be   said    about   you   in   the   papers   to- 


morrow." 


She  looked  up  at  him  with  mute  gratitude,  but  found 
it  impossible  to  frame  a  reply. 

He  had  helped  her  into  the  car  which  was  waiting 
for  them  at  the  curb,  and  it  had  started  upon  its  way 
before  he  said  sharply,  "  Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
about  this,  Freda?" 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  called  her  by  this  name, 
and  in  spite  of  her  depression  it  gave  her  a  curious 
little  thrill.  "  I  don't  see  how  I  could  have  told  you," 
she  answered  slowly. 

"You  mean,  you  haven't  had  an  opportunity?  I 
know.  I've  been  so  absorbed — just  a  self-absorbed 
brute.  I  haven't  even " 

But  she  flew  to  his  defense.  "  No,  it  wasn't  just 
that.  But  I  couldn't  talk  about  it.  I  couldn't " 

"  We  won't  talk  about  it,"  he  said  gently.  "  But  I 
hoped, — I  wish — that  you  had  a  little  more  faith  in  me. 
I  don't  deserve  it,  but  the  things  we  get  which  we 
know  we  don't  deserve  are  the  very  sweetest  fruits  of 
life." 

"Where  are  we  going?  "  she  asked  quickly,  feeling 
that  she  must  break  the  tension  somehow  or  cry  out 
with  the  pain  of  it. 

"  To  the  Latimers'.  They  told  me  to  bring  you  up 
to  dinner.  Your  friend  Miss  Markley  is  there  too. 


ON  TRIAL  357 

Doris  feels  so  badly  because  you  wouldn't  let  her  go 
with  you  today.     She  wanted " 

"  I  know,  but  I  couldn't.  I  didn't  want  any  one 
there  whom  I  knew.  It  was  easier  this  way." 

When  they  arrived  at  the  Latimers'  apartment, 
they  found  the  little  group  waiting  for  them  in  the 
cheerful  living  room.  It  was  one  of  Glenn's  rare  eve- 
nings off  duty  and  she  was  playing  soft,  dreamy  things 
on  the  Baby  Grand,  in  obedience  to  the  authoritative 
requests  of  the  doctor. 

As  the  moments  passed,  Freda's  taut  nerves  began 
to  relax  under  the  quiet  restfulness  of  the  room. 
There  had  been  no  definite  effort  at  comforting  from 
any  of  them,  but  the  scene  was  charged  with  sympa- 
thetic understanding.  How  kind  they  all  were,  she 
thought,  as  she  sat  before  the  open  fire,  leaning  far 
back  in  the  chair  which  the  doctor  had  rolled  into 
place  for  her.  How  dear,  how  completely  com- 
prehending they  had  been,  this  little  company, 
who  were  closest  to  her  heart  of  any  people  in  the 
world. 

It  was  almost  six  o'clock  and  the  November  sun- 
light had  faded  into  dusk.  But  Doris  had  not  turned 
on  the  lights  and  only  the  blazing  coals  illuminated 
the  room.  The  two  men  had  withdrawn  to  a  far 
corner  and  were  smoking  in  contented  silence,  while 
Glenn's  fingers  rippled  softly  over  the  piano  keys. 
Doris  was  on  the  divan  near  Freda,  her  eyes  fixed 


358  ON  TRIAL 

with  anxious  thoughtfulness  upon  the  giiTs  tired 
face. 

"  This  is  my  idea  of  perfect  happiness."  The  doc- 
tor's voice  came  to  them  from  the  distant,  smoke- 
wreathed  corner.  "An  open  fire,  music,  friends; — 
muffle  the  'phone,  somebody." 

But  it  was  not  the  telephone  that  broke  in  upon  the 
quiet  scene.  It  was  a  sharp  peal  of  the  doorbell,  that 
seemed  to  jar  upon  the  nerves  of  the  little  group  and 
break  the  spell  of  their  serenity.  At  sound  of  it,  the 
notes  that  rippled  from  Glenn's  fingers  trailed  off  into 
silence. 

The  voice  of  the  colored  maid  came  to  them  from 
the  front  hall.  And  then  there  was  the  sound  of 
another  voice,  harsh,  imperative.  Freda  stiffened  in 
her  chair  as  though,  at  the  word  of  the  executioner, 
it  had  been  charged  with  the  death  current. 

"  I  want  to  see  Miss  Bayne,"  the  voice  repeated. 
"  I  want  to  see  her.  Where  is  she  ?  " 

Norman  Brewster  was  already  on  his  feet  and  had 
laid  his  glowing  cigar  upon  the  ash  stand.  "  I'll  go 
and  see  what  he  wants.  I'll  find  out  who " 

Freda  had  come  halfway  across  the  room  and  she 
looked  at  him  now  with  frightened,  appealing  eyes. 
"  No,  it's  for  me,"  she  said.  "  I'd  rather  go — my- 
self." 

The  certainty  that  she  would,  and  the  imploring 
glance  that  she  gave  him,  made  him  hesitate.  But 


ON  TRIAL  359 

he  still  stood  there  as  she  went  out  into  the  hall,  as 
though  awaiting  a  sudden  summons. 

Out  there  the  light  was  burning  and  it  seemed  to 
throw  into  brutal  relief  every  line  of  the  face  which 
confronted  the  girl  as  she  stepped  from  the  dimness 
of  the  room  beyond.  As  they  stood  there,  facing  each 
other,  the  scene  that  she  had  just  left  faded  from  her 
memory.  She  was  vaguely  conscious  that  the  colored 
maid  had  disappeared,  leaving  them  alone,  and  that 
Glenn  had  begun  to  play  again.  Faint  and  far  away 
the  music  seemed,  like  the  ghostly  accompaniment  of 
an  evil  dream. 

She  shuddered,  as  she  had  shuddered  once  before 
that  same  day,  at  the  marks  of  dissipation  which  two 
years  had  left  upon  that  face.  There  were  deep,  ugly 
lines  about  the  mouth  now,  and  the  handsome  gray 
eyes  that  had  once  given  him  a  certain  bold  distinc- 
tion, were  bloodshot,  and  looked  out  from  beneath 
puffy  lids  which  had  encroached  upon  their  domain 
and  made  them  seem  only  half  their  natural  size.  It 
was  evident  that  he  had  been  drinking.  But  evident 
too  that  he  was  not  drunk. 

"  I  found  out  where  you  were !  " 

He  threw  the  words  at  her  like  a  challenge. 

Freda  knew  that  his  harsh  voice  penetrated  easily 
to  the  still  room  beyond,  and  she  spoke  in  a  low,  hur- 
ried tone  as  one  might  apply  a  soft  pedal  to  the  raucous" 
notes  of  a  piano  that  had  long  ago  lost  its  connec- 


360  ON  TRIAL 

tion  with  suppression.  "  Yes,  I  thought — you 
might." 

A  mirthless  laugh  broke  from  him.  "  You  thought 
I  might!  You  were  anxious  to  have  me,  I  suppose. 
I  went  to  the  place  where  you  lived  first,  and  the 
woman  at  the  desk  told  me  you  might  be  here." 

Freda  waited  dumbly. 

"  You've  got  swell  friends  now,"  he  went  on.  It 
was  evident  that  he  thought  himself  alone  with  her. 
The  darkened  room  seemed  to  add  to  this  assurance. 
;<  You've  got  swell  friends,  and  you're  like  your 
mother — a  snob  at  heart.  When  you  told  that  story 
in  court  today,  did  you  realize  what  you  were  doing? 
Did  you  know  that  that  woman  had  us  all  under  her 
thumb?" 

She  nodded. 

"  You  did  know  it !  I  thought  maybe  you  didn't. 
That  there  might  be  that  excuse  for  you!  But  you 
knew  that  you  were  as  good  as  turnin'  me  out  of  my 
home,  makin'  it  necessary  for  me  to  be  a  hired  man 
in  the  place  where  I've  lived  all  my  life !  You  knew 
that — and  you  didn't  care !  " 

"  I  did  care ! "  she  cried  desperately,  finding  her 
voice  at  last.  "  I  did  care,  but — oh,  if  you  had  only 
cared!  If  you  had  really  cared  about  this  wretched 
affair!  If  you  had  wanted  to  begin  all  over  again, 
if  you  had  cared  about  anything,  except  losing  the 
place!  I  would  have  done  anything  that  you  sug- 


ON  TRIAL  361 

gested.  But  I  couldn't  save  you !  I  couldn't!  For  it 
isn't  salvation  that  you  want ! " 

He  turned  upon  her  with  a  fury  that  could  have 
stricken  her  down  where  she  stood. 

"  What  right  have  you  got  to  set  yourself  above 
me?"  he  cried.  "Do  you  think  you  can  ever  rise 
above  your  own  people?  Do  you  think  you  can  be 
better  than " 

"  I  didn't  think  so  once,"  she  said  steadily.  "  But 
I  have  risen  above  what " 

He  laughed  again,  that  exultant  laugh  that  is  more 
hideous  than  a  curse. 

"  I've  found  out  about  your  life  down  here,  Freda. 
Aurelia  has  found  out  about  it.  It  isn't  hard  to  get 
at  what  you  want  to  know  in  a  city,  if  you've  got  the 
money  to  pay  for  it."  He  paused  a  moment,  looking 
at  her  with  terrible  eyes. 

"  I  know  where  you  used  to  work,"  he  went 
on.  "  And  I  know  that  the  girls  who  work  there 
don't  do  it  just  for  the  wages  they  get  from  that 
store." 

Under  the  insolence  of  his  tone  she  shrank  like  a 
hunted  animal  desperately  seeking  shelter.  But  he 
went  on,  his  voice  gathering  violence.  "  I  know  about 
that  man  that  used  to  take  you  out  with  him.  We 
found  the  darky  servant  that  worked  for  him.  He'd 
been  fired  without  any  warning,  and  he  was  glad  to  tell 
us  why.  He  told  us " 


362  ON  TRIAL 

"Don't  say  it,  Father!" 

Her  wild  words  of  protest  added  the  final  link  to 
the  chain  of  conviction  with  which  he  hoped  to  en- 
slave her.  The  scene  at  the  beach  bungalow,  the  face 
of  Martin  Meggs,  ghastly  in  death,  as  she  always  saw 
it  now,  was  too  terrible  a  picture  for  her  overwrought 
nerves.  But  he  mistook  her  cry  for  the  last  despairing 
struggle  of  the  self-confessed  criminal. 

"  You  can't  hide  it,"  he  told  her  grimly.  "  You 
can't  hide  what  you  are  any  more  than  I  could.  I 
guess  you're  not  too  good  to  come  and  take  care  of 
your  own  father  now.  I  guess  you  can  come  back 
where  you  belong  and  help  me  get " 

The  torrent  of  his  words  stopped  suddenly  like  a 
phonograph  record  halted  in  mid-circle.  Freda  felt  a 
presence  behind  her.  A  voice  that  was  dreadful  in  its 
suppressed  anger  came  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Get  out  of  this  house !  Get  out  of  this  house  while 
I  can  still  keep  my  hands  off  of  you ! " 

There  was  an  instant  of  awful  silence.  She  knew 
that  the  group  who  had  been  startled  at  this  man's 
coming,  were  all  about  her  now.  But  the  man  made 
a  desperate  effort  at  bold  assurance. 

"  I'll  get  out,"  he  promised  defiantly,  "  when  I  can 
take  my  girl  with  me.  You  don't  seem  to  know  who 
I  am.  I'm  her  father.  I'm " 

Freda  felt  a  strong  arm  about  her,  and  a  firm  hand 
closed  over  hers.  "You  may  be — her  father,"  that 


ON  TRIAL  363 

tensely  controlled  voice  agreed  with  quiet  mastery. 
"  But  I  am  going  to  be  her  husband." 


XVI 

IT  was  the  day  after  what  Glenn  termed  "  Freda's 
announcement  party,"  that  Maxwell  Nevin  summoned 
her  to  his  private  office,  just  before  closing  time. 
During  the  days  of  the  divorce  trial  her  attendance  at 
the  "  Booklover's "  had  been  erratic,  and  she  had 
dreaded  a  sharp  reproof  from  headquarters,  as  much 
as  she  had  dreaded  the  comments  of  her  associates. 

She  found  the  junior  partner  sorting  over  a  pile  of 
typewritten  manuscripts  that  the  expressman  had  just 
brought  in.  He  motioned  her  to  a  chair  and  went  on 
with  his  task  like  an  executioner  absorbed  in  prepar- 
ing the  last  grisly  details  of  his  work. 

"  Let's  see,"  he  mused,  pushing  the  papers  away 
from  him  at  length.  "  You  have  been  with  us  about 
eight  months  now,  haven't  you,  Miss  Bayne  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  little  more  than  that." 

"  A  little  more  than  eight  months,"  he  repeated,  and 
tapped  his  glasses  on  the  arm  of  his  chair.  "  Well,  I 
think  I  am  justified  in  saying  that  never  before  have 
we  had  any  employe  become  so  valuable  to  us  as  you 
have,  in  eight  months." 

A  wave  of  color  tinged  the  girl's  tired  face.  It  was 
an  almost  overwhelming  climax  to  the  harassing 


364  ON  TRIAL 

ordeal  of  the  past  weeks.  "  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that," 
he  said,  turning  back  to  his  desk  again.  "  I  thought 
you  might  like  to  know  it — just  now."  There  was  a 
moment's  pause  and  then  he  went  on  in  his  genial, 
comradely  voice.  "  I  have  a  daughter  over  at  the 
unversity  who  is  about  to  graduate.  She  tells  me  that 
she  has  been  grouping  in  English.  I  tell  her  that  she 
has  been  merely  groping  in  English.  But  she  has 
written  some  very  creditable  stuff  and  had  some  of  it 
published  in  the  Sunday  editions  of  the  local  news- 
papers. I  had  great  hopes  when  she  went  to  college. 
I  had  a  dream  of  having  her  come  in  here  and  help 
me  out  after  a  time:  of  gradually  shifting  part  of 
the  load  to  her  shoulders.  But  I  am  beginning  to  think 
that  this  is  to  be  only  a  dream.  She  has  all  the  mental 
equipment  of  a  critic,  but  no  feeling  for  it — no  literary 
instinct.  She  talks  of  '  unity '  and  '  motivation  '  and 
'  implied  action/  and  other  terrifying  things,  but  she 
seems  to  have  lost,  perhaps  temporarily,  the  ability  to 
find  the  heart  of  what  she  reads.  Of  course  hers  may 
be  a  light  case.  They  tell  me  that  some  of  these 
college  students  recover.  But  I  know  that  at  present 
she  can  be  of  no  use  to  me  here,  and  I  think,  Miss 
Bayne,"  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  now  and  laid  his 
glasses  on  his  desk,  "  I  think  that  you  can." 

"  You  mean,"  Freda  said  dazedly,  "  that  you  want 

me "     "To  come  in  here  and  learn  something 

about  the  publishing  end  of  the  business.    Mr.  Chap- 


ON  TRIAL  365 

man,  Miss  Judson,  and  I  have  talked  it  over.  We 
realize  that  in  withdrawing  you  from  the  floor  we  are 
depriving  our  customers  of  a  helpful  friend.  But  we 
feel  that  the  buyers  of  books  have  had  their  turn  and 
that  now  the  writers  of  books  should  have  theirs.  How 
do  you  feel  about  it  ?  " 

It  was  impossible  for  her  to  tell  him  just  then  how 
she  felt,  but  when  at  last  she  started  toward  the  door 
with  inarticulate  little  words  of  thanks,  he  stopped 
her.  "  Now  that  I  have  confessed  to  having  a  grown 
daughter,  do  you  mind  if  I  ask  you  a  very  personal 
question,  Miss  Bayne  ?  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  A  little  over  twenty." 

"A  little  over  twenty,"  he  repeated.  "That's  a 
cruel  age;  an  age  when  the  troubles  of  life  look  their 
largest  and  blackest.  Allow  a  little  over  fifty  to  say 
something  to  '  a  little  over  twenty,'  my  dear.  Allow 
fifty  to  assure  you  that  no  tragedy  of  our  personal  lives 
is  big  enough  or  black  enough  for  the  world  to  remem- 
ber longer  than  a  day.  Not  by  any  chance  does  the 
public  remember  longer  than  two." 

She  went  back  to  the  deserted  shop  in  a  warm  glow 
of  grateful  happiness.  Wonderful  things  were  hap- 
pening these  last  few  hours.  Every  one  seemed  to  be 
in  a  delightful  conspiracy  to  spare  her  feelings,  to 
set  her  at  ease  about  this  ugly  drama  in  which  she  had 
been  forced  to  take  a  part. 


366  ON  TRIAL 

When  the  storm  was  at  its  fiercest,  she  had  received 
both  signed  and  anonymous  communications  concern- 
ing her  role  as  star  witness.  There  had  been  letters 
of  condemnation,  of  voluble  approval,  of  exhortation. 
She  had  been  astounded  at  their  intensity  and  presump- 
tion; at  the  time  which  so  many  people  had,  apparently, 
to  devote  to  affairs  so  irrelevant  to  their  own  lives. 

"  At  last,"  she  said  cynically  to  Glenn  one  day,  "  at 
last  I  can  supply  the  roller  towel  with  color  and  spice/' 

The  morning  paper  had  given  a  detailed  account  of 
the  ending  of  the  Morton  case,  dwelling  with  peculiar 
relish  upon  Aurelia's  highly  colored  comments  upon 
the  injustice  of  the  community  property  law;  of  the 
quiet  marriage  of  "  the  second  Mrs.  Morton,"  and 
of  Tom  Morton's  prospective  return,  unencumbered, 
to  Colorado.  Of  Frederick  Bayne  there  was  no  fur- 
ther mention,  but  Freda  knew,  even  before  Norman 
Brewster  had  assured  her  of  it,  that  she  need  have 
no  more  fear  of  the  sinister  shadow  which  he  had 
cast  across  her  life.  "  He  shall  be  provided  for,"  he 
had  told  her  last  night  when  the  curtain  had  fallen 
upon  their  final  tragic  scene  together.  "  He  shall  be 
provided  for,  Freda.  But  he  shall  not  spoil  your  life 
— our  lives." 

And  now  she  was  waiting  for  Norman  Brewster, 
waiting  for  him  in  the  deserted  bookshop,  where  they 
had  first  come  to  really  know  each  other.  Maxwell 
Nevin  came  out  of  his  office,  calling  to  her  over  his 


ON  TRIAL  367 

shoulder  a  warning  that  the  janitor  had  driven  him  out 
with  his  hostile  brooms  and  would  soon  be  upon  her 
too. 

But  she  stood  before  the  shelves  of  the  circulating 
library,  reading  over  the  familiar  titles  with  eyes  that 
were  unaware  of  their  existence.  She  remembered 
suddenly  that  the  Latimers  had  planned  a  theater  party 
for  this  evening.  It  had  been  arranged  a  week  ago, 
and  now  she  wished  that  she  could  escape  it.  She  was 
not  in  the  mood  for  its  garish  gaiety.  There  was  so 
much  that  she  must  say  to  Norman  Brewster.  She 
was  jealous  of  any  intrusion  upon  their  time  together. 

A  moment  later  she  heard  his  step,  saw  him  push 
open  the  front  door  and  come  in,  searching  for  her 
with  eager,  impatient  eyes. 

"  I  knew  that  I'd  find  you  here,  Freda,"  he  said 
softly.  "  And  I  couldn't  wait  till  this  evening.  I  had 

to  come  now,  because  you  haven't  told  me  yet 

You  know  what  it  is  that  you  haven't  told  me  yet." 

His  hand  sought  hers  in  its  nervous  progress  along 
the  shelves  of  the  circulating  library,  but  she  drew  it 
away.  "  I  can't  let  you — do  that,"  she  stammered. 
"  I  can't  let  you  until " 

"  You  have  kept  me  waiting  a  long  time,  Freda 
dear,"  he  told  her  wistfully.  "  You  elusive  little  frost 
maiden,  you  have  kept  me  hoping  and  then  despairing 
for  a  long  time.  You've  always  fled  from  me.  Per- 
haps that  is  what  first  made  me  want  to  follow." 


368  ON  TRIAL 

"But  last  night,"  she  began  huskily.  "Last 

night It  all  came  about  so  suddenly.  You  were 

taken  unawares.  You  felt  that  you  had  to  do  some- 
thing  " 

There  was  a  note  of  almost  fierce  pride  in  her  voice 
now.  She  stood  before  him,  a  frost  maiden  indeed, 
probing  his  heart  with  trembling  but  courageous 
fingers,  seeking  for  that  dread  thing — pity.  And  as 
he  looked  down  at  her,  this  girl  with  the  dishonored 
name,  this  little  book  clerk,  who  faced  him  with  such 
defiant  eyes,  a  new  humility  enveloped  him.  Never 
before  had  he  wanted  her  so  much.  Never  before  had 
his  need  of  her  been  so  overwhelming. 

"  Freda !  "  he  cried  passionately,  "  do  you  think  I 
only  began  last  night  to  love  you?  I've  waited  be- 
cause— I  wanted  to  offer  you  something,  some  achieve- 
ment that  would  make  me  more  worthy  of  you.  You 
have  had  so  little,  and  have  made  so  much  of  it.  I 
have  had  so  much,  and  have  made  so  little  of  it.  I 
can't  let  the  balance  stand  that  way.  And  so  I  waited, 
but "  He  stopped  a  moment,  trying  to  read  as- 
surance in  the  eyes  that  would  not  meet  his. 

"  Did  you  think  it  was  only  the  Moderns  who 
brought  me  here?"  He  smiled  shamelessly.  "I 
never  read  beyond  the  B's.  I  had  found  you  by  that 
time,  and  in  finding  you,  I  found  my  soul.  All  my 
friends  had  been  urging  me  to  do  the  popular  stuff, 
the  kind  of  thing  that  sells  quickly,  and  I  came  in  here 


ON  TRIAL  369 

to  find  out  what  it  was.  And  then  I  discovered,  you 
told  me,  that  I  must  be  true  to  the  best  that  was  in 
me.  You  had  said  that  you  loved  me  and " 

She  looked  at  him  now  with  startled,  protesting 
eyes. 

"  Yes,  you  did,"  he  went  on  relentlessly.  "  You 
told  me  that  the  very  first  time  I  met  you.  It 
was  almost  the  first  thing  you  ever  said  to  me, 
Freda." 

His  fingers  sought  one  of  the  worn  volumes  on  the 
shelves.  He  drew  it  out  and  spun  it  around  upon  a 
pile  of  Best  Sellers  on  the  table  between  them. 
"  You  said  that  you  loved  this  man,"  he  reminded  her 
sternly.  "  And  I  was  jealous.  I've  been  jealous  of 
him  for  more  than  a  year." 

She  was  staring  down  at  the  collection  of  short 
stories  through  a  gray  mist.  "  How  could  you  do  it?  " 
she  murmured.  "  How  could  you  let  me  say — all  the 
things  I  have  said — to  you?" 

"  You  have  said  a  great  many  things,"  he  admitted. 
"  You  have  said  a  great  many  things — good  things 
and  hard  things — to  Stanford  Spence.  But  you  have 
never  said  anything  to  me.  And  I  wanted  you  to  care 
for  me,  Freda.  I  didn't  want  you  to  care  only  for  a 
successful  writer.  I  wanted  you  to  care  for  me.  And 
when  I  saw  that  he  was  losing  caste  in  your  eyes,  when 
he  brought  out  that  third  collection,  and  you  scorned 
him  for  it " 


370  ON  TRIAL 

She  put  out  her  hand  in  a  gesture  of  mute  entreaty, 
and  he  caught  it  and  held  it  fast. 

"Oh,  why  did  you  think  I  cared  only  for  that?" 
she  whispered.  "  Why  did  you  think  I  cared  at  all — 
for  that?  It  was  you.  All  the  time  it  has  been  you. 
But  I  wanted  you  so  much  to  find — to  have — your 
heritage.  I  knew  that  you  had  it  in  you  to  be  one  of 
the  really  great,  and  I  couldn't  bear  to  see  you  drift- 
ing. And  then  on  the  ferry  that  night,  when  you 
told  me  you  cared  only  for  society,  for  the  kind  of 
thing  that " 

"  I  didn't  say  that.  I  said  I  cared  only  for  hap- 
piness, which  is  my  other  name  for  you/' 

"  And  I  thought,"  she  went  on,  unheeding  this  ex- 
planation, "  I  thought  then  that  I  was  standing  in 
your  way,  just  as — some  one  else  had  once  done.  I 
thought — I  decided — that  I  ought  to  give  you  up." 

At  last  she  knew  now,  and  the  knowledge  came,  not 
as  conscious  thought,  but  as  conviction  long  ago  a  part 
of  her,  but  never  before  recognized.  She  knew  now 
that  in  the  cause  of  pity,  the  heart  may  give  itself  at 
great  sacrifice  and  without  stint,  but  only  love  may 
reach  the  heights  of  renunciation.  "  But  Norman 
Spence  can't  let  you  go  on  here,  Freda,"  he  told  her. 
"  He  can't  let  you  get  into  the  editor's  office  as  Nevin 
says  he's  going  to  ask  you  to  do.  Why,  with  a  critic 
like  you  reading  his  stuff,  Spence  can  never  hope  for  a 
career.  And  now  you  know,"  he  went  on,  drawing  her 


ON  TRIAL  371 

at  last  into  his  arms,  "  now  you  know,  dear,  that  with- 
out you  he  can  do  nothing  worth  while." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  eyes  that  were  smiling 
through  sudden  tears.  "  And  now/'  she  told  him  with 
hopeless  lack  of  logic,  "  now  I  don't  seem  to  care 
about  him,  about  anything — but  just  you." 

He  was  satisfied  at  last,  and  was  still  telling  her 
so  when  the  dour- faced  janitor  appeared  with  his  long- 
handled  brooms  and  drove  them  out  to  the  street. 

When  the  Latimers  called  for  her  that  evening,  she 
was  still  resentful  of  the  theater  plan,  except  for  the 
fact  that  Norman  would  be  there,  and  that  they  might 
spend  this  first  evening  in  the  voiceless,  gestureless 
communion  with  each  other  that  only  lovers  under- 
stand. 

"  The  announcement  first,  and  the  courtship  after- 
ward   How  like  Norman  to  do  it  that  way,"  she 

said  to  herself  as  she  dressed  that  evening,  smiling  in 
her  complete  understanding  of  him. 

They  had  one  of  the  lower  boxes  at  the  Columbia, 
and  Freda  was  conscious,  with  that  new  self -conscious- 
ness of  love,  that  many  eyes  followed  them  as  they 
took  their  places.  It  seemed  a  long  time  since  she 
had  been  to  the  theater  or  had  followed  the  glaring 
announcements  upon  its  billboards.  The  stress  and 
strain  of  the  past  weeks  had  made  its  unrealities  seem 
far  remote. 

Norman  had  disappeared  to  get  them  programs, 


372  ON  TRIAL 

but  Freda  scarcely  noticed  his  absence.  The  moments 
were  too  full  for  thought.  There  was  no  room  now 
for  anything  but  feeling.  When  at  last  he  came  in 
and  took  his  place  beside  her,  she  did  not  turn  but 
kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  gray  velvet  curtains  of 
the  stage. 

And  then  slowly,  as  the  story  unfolded  itself,  she 
was  drawn  under  the  spell  of  it.  Its  pathos,  its  humor, 
its  appealing  humanness,  sought  her  heart,  found  it, 
mastered  it.  She  forgot  the  rest  of  the  party.  Her 
responsive  imagination  and  vibrant  sympathy  had  car- 
ried her  across  the  footlights,  and  she  was  lost  to 
realities.  And  no  one  disturbed  her,  nor  tried  to  call 
her  back  from  her  dream. 

All  at  once,  it  must  have  been  a  long  time  after- 
ward, for  the  curtain  had  fallen  upon  the  last  act,  she 
was  aware  of  thunderous  applause  and  voices  all  over 
the  house  calling  insistently. 

She  never  knew  quite  how  it  happened,  but  in  a  mo- 
ment she  was  standing  beside  Norman  in  the  narrow 
hallway  back  of  their  box.  Other  people  were  there 
too;  people  with  eager,  smiling  faces  and  outstretched 
hands. 

"  Author !  Author !  "  The  voices  were  coming 
distinctly  now,  impatient,  commanding.  "  Spence ! 
Spence !  Bring  him  out !  Bring  him  out !  " 

One  of  the  men  in  the  little  group  pressed  forward. 
It  was  the  tall,  lean  dramatist  whom  Norman  had 


ON  TRIAL  373 

pointed  out  to  the  Latimer  party  that  night  at  Rad- 
cliffe's,  the  successful  writer  of  Orpheum  skits.  His 
look  of  perpetual  astonishment  seemed  to  have  in- 
creased. 

"  Great  stuff !  "  he  cried,  slapping  Norman  Brewster 
upon  the  shoulder.  "  It's  the  best  thing  that's  hit  San 
Francisco  since  '  The  Music  Master.'  You've  got  'em 
now,  Spence.  You've  got  'em  going!  And  believe 
me,  this  burg  knows." 

He  passed  on,  back  to  the  wings,  and  Freda,  look- 
ing into  the  eyes  of  the  man  beside  her,  saw  a  trans- 
formed being.  This  was  not  the  man  who  had 
pleaded  for  her  love  that  afternoon.  The  Norman 
Brewster  whom  she  knew  had  vanished.  In  that  mo- 
ment of  his  triumph,  the  man  was  submerged  in  the 
artist. 

"  I've  got  to  take  that  curtain  call ! "  he  cried. 
"  And  I  want  to  feel  that  you  are  up  here  in  the  wings 
— backing  me." 

And  then,  as  he  stood  holding  the  heavy  drapery  of 
the  hallway  aside  for  her  to  pass,  "  Freda,  dear,"  he 
whispered,  "  if  you  care — just  a  little — for  this  other 
chap  now — I  won't  be  jealous." 


COLAS  BREUGNON    Burgundian 

BY   ROMAIN   ROLLAND 
Author  of  "JEAN-CHRISTOPHE,"    $1.75. 

The  phrase,  "  there  is  life  in  the  old  dog  yet,"  is  the  keynote  of  this 
romance  of  a  buoyant,  plainspoken  Burgundian  in  the  little  town  of 
Clamecy  and  the  days  of  Marie  de  Medici.  Colas  is  the  embodied 
artistry,  humor  and  courage  of  France. 

Bookman:  "To  live  in  the  company  of  Breugnon  is  a  tonic." 

Review :  "  Seven  or  eight  hours  of  delight.  .  .  .  Life  in  its  totality, 
teeming  and  varied,  justified  and  glorious." 

Nation:  It   "flows  with   sparkling  Burgundy." 

New  York  Sun :  It  is  "  so  good  that  we  do  not  pretend  to  be  able  to 
do  it  justice  .  .  .  the  very  tonic  the  world  now  needs." 

New  York  Evening  Post:  "  Playful,  tender,  light-spirited  and  yet 
penetrating." 

Boston  Transcript:  "  A  character  worth  remembering." 

Chicago  Tribune:  "  Superior  to  anything  Holland  has  done." 

Philadelphia  Evening  Ledger:  "  Intensely  human." 


THE  OLD  MADHOUSE 

BY  WILLIAM  DE  MORGAN 

Author  of "  JOSEPH  VANCE,"  "  SOMEHOW  GOOD."  etc.    $1.90 

The  mystery  of  Dr.  Cartaret's  complete  disappearance,  told  with 
De  Morgan's  delightful  characters,  constant  quiet  humor  and  brave, 
clean  view  of  life. 

New  York  Times'  Review:  "A  peculiar  homage  .  .  .  perhaps  no 
English-writing  novelist  since  the  days  of  Dickens  and  Thackeray  has 
won  it  as  he  has  .  .  .  full  of  all  the  things  his  admirers  Love  a 
De  Morgan  novel  for  ...  the  mystery  of  Dr.  Cartaret's  disappearance 
enthralls  the  reader." 

New  York  Evening  Post:  "The  absorbing  progress  of  the  story  .  .  . 
all  these  people  really  live  .  .  .  what  may  be  called  the  moral  force  of 
the  novel  is  great." 

Atlantic  Monthly:  "  No  English  writer  in  this  century  has  done  so 
much  to  take  the  novel  away  from  the  dilettanti  and  give  it  back  to  the 
public." 

New  York  Evening  Sun:  "He  possesses  the  true  magic  of  'the  spell 
of  the  teller  of  tales.'  " 


HENRY       HOLT      AND      COMPANY 

19  W   44  ST.  (II  '*o)  NEW    YORK 


FIRECRACKER  JANE 

By  ALICE  CALHOUN  HAINES,  author  of  "The  Luck  of  the 
Dudley  Grahams,"  " Cock-a-doodle  Hill,"  "Partners  for 
Fair."  $1.50 

Firecracker  Jane  is  the  motherless,  lovable,  red-haired 
daughter  of  an  American  cavalry  officer,  and  has  grown  up 
with  her  father  and  "  S.  O.  S.,"  a  younger  officer,  for  her 
"  pals."  Stung  by  what  she  thinks  is  her  father's  indifference, 
she  elopes  with  Riccardo,  her  Mexican  cousin,  and  is  plunged 
into  the  midst  of  the  Mexican  chaos  of  three  years  ago. 
Follows  then  a  series  of  adventures  which  culminate  in  her 
capture  by  Valdes,  the  Lion  of  the  North,  a  brutal  revolution- 
ary leader.  Her  escape,  and  the  manner  in  which  the  love 
tangle  is  unraveled  after  war  with  Germany  began,  provide 
a  happy  ending. 

The  New  York  Evening  Sun :  "  Lives  up  to  its  title,  much  strenu- 
ous adventure." 

San  Francisco  Bulletin:  "Thrilling  .  .  .  calculated  to  stir  the 
blood  of  the  most  jaded  fiction  reader." 

THE   CHINESE   PUZZLE 

By  MARION  BOWER  and  LEON  M.  LION. 

The  characters,  vitally  drawn,  are  gathered  at  a  great 
English  country  house,  and  include,  in  the  group  of  brilliant 
worldlings,  a  Chinese  Ambassador,  wise,  loyal,  and  finally — ? 
There  is  a  secret  treaty,  crime,  intrigue  and  sparkling  talk. 
$1.60. 

New  York  Times:  "  That  all  too  rare  literary  product,  an  absorb- 
ing mystery  tale." 

THE  HAPPY   YEARS 

By  INEZ  HAYNES  IRWIN.  The  third  of  the  "Phoebe  and 
Ernest"  Series.  $1.60. 

The  author's  response  to  the  request  that  she  tell  what 
happened  to  Phoebe  and  Ernest  when  they  grew  up.  We  here 
see  each  of  them  married,  with  children  of  their  own,  and  with 
delightful  friends,  and  perhaps  the  happiest  of  all  are 
grandfather  and  grandmother  Martin.  The  life  of  them  all  is 
rich  with  responsibility,  friendship,  love,  sorrow  and  happi- 
ness. 

New  York  Evening  Post:  "  Has  as  much  humor,  truth,  and  appeal- 
ing warmth  as  any  of  its  predecessors." 

Boston  Evening  Transcript:  "What  marks  Mrs.  Irwin's  work  is 
her  ability  to  catch  the  mood  of  the  average  American." 

HENRY      HOLT      AND      COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  (vi  '19)  NEW  YORK 


THE   LIGHT   HEART 

By  MAURICE  HEWLETT.    $2.00. 

Hewlett  has  never  done  anything  more  brilliant  than 
this  northern  story  of  adventure  in  which  the  epic  starkness 
of  the  plot,  drawn  from  the  Iceland  sagas,  is  softened  by  the 
humanity  of  a  gentler  day.  The  result  is  a  surprising  com- 
bination of  thrilling  narrative  and  delicate  characterization, 
seldom  to  be  matched  in  literature. 

THE   BLACK   KNIGHT 

By  MRS.  ALFRED  SIDGWICK  and  CROSBIE  GARSTIN.    $2.00. 

A  young  Englishman  is  involved  in  the  financial  ruin  and 
disgrace  of  his  father,  and  emigrates  to  Western  Canada. 
At  first  a  penniless  laborer,  he  eventually  makes  a  fortune, 
after  many  humorous  adventures  strongly  reminiscent  of 
Owen  Wister's  "Virginian."  Finally  he  returns  to  Paris, 
where  he  finds  the  girl  of  his  choice  in  the  clutches  of  schem- 
ing relatives,  and  then .  A  fascinating  up-to-date  romance. 

TRUE   LOVE 

By  ALLAN  MONKHOUSE,  Literary  Editor  of  the  Manchester 
Guardian.    $1.75. 

This  novel  deals  with  the  spiritual  struggles  of  a  young 
playwright,  torn  between  his  love  for  a  woman  and  his  love 
of  country  at  one  of  the  great  moments  of  the  world's  history. 
No  more  gallant  struggle  was  ever  made,  and  Monkhouse's 
handling  of  it  is  worthy  of  a  high  place  in  contemporary 
fiction.  The  picture  given  of  the  dramatic  and  literary  life  in 
Manchester  is  of  particular  interest. 

CAPE  CURREY 

By  RENE  JUTA.    $1.75. 

This  remarkable  historical  novel,  which  is  also  a  first  novel, 
tells  one  of  the  strangest  stories  which  has  seen  the  light,  even 
in  these  wonder-loving  days.  Many  of  the  characters  have 
descendants  playing  their  parts  now  on  the  British  imperial 
stage.  But  the  strange  figure  of  Dr.  James  Barry  has  only 
old  wives'  tales  and  this  novel  for  memorial.  The  mysterious 
garden  is  likewise  no  fiction,  Sir  Charles  Somerset  being 
credited  with  the  foundation  of  the  first  of  its  kind  in  the 
Cape  Province. 

HENRY      HOLT      AND      COMPANY 
19  W.  44TH  ST.  (iii  '20)  NEW  YORK 


AT   FAME'S   GATEWAY 

THE   ROMANCE   OF   A    PIANISTE 
By  JENNIE  IRENE  Mix.    $1.75. 

An  often  humorous  story  of  the  adventures  of  a  beautiful 
American  girl  from  an  oil-boom  town,  in  search  of  musical 
fame  in  New  York,  where  she  meets  interesting  people  in 
musical  and  Bohemian  circles,  including  the  great  teacher 
Brandt  (who  hides  a  secret),  his  masterful  Bohemian  house- 
keeper, Novak  a  fascinating  violinist,  and  Stanhope,  a  very 
dependable  novelist.  The  viewpoint  throughout  is  fresh,  and 
the  outcome  cannot  be  foreseen  by  the  reader,  especially  as  to 
how  the  heroine  will  succeed  in  both  love  and  music.  The 
characters  are  an  unusually  likable  lot,  not  the  amorous 
freaks  that  novelists  have  too  often  pictured  musicians  as 
being. 

THE   GIRL  FROM    FOUR   CORNERS 

A    CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

By  REBECCA  N.  PORTER.    $1.75. 

An  inspiring  story  of  a  girl's  struggle  between  the  evil  in- 
fluence of  her  father  and  the  benign  one  of  her  mother,  told 
in  action,  which  contains  much  of  the  unexpected.  We  begin 
with  Fredrica's  girlhood  on  a  lonely  ranch.  Later,  still  alone, 
she  faces  the  vicissitudes  of  San  Francisco.  The  gaiety  of 
that  metropolis  is  well  indicated.  Strange  to  say,  the  heroine 
comes  the  nearest  to  disaster  from  pity  for  one  who  needs 
her. 

THE   UNCENSORED    LETTERS 
OF  A   CANTEEN   GIRL 

ANONYMOUS  $a.oo 

The  only  book  of  its  kind  so  far  produced  by  the  Great 
War.  A  remarkably  sympathetic  and  fresh  account  of 
A.  E.  F.  happenings  by  an  unpracticed  writer.  She  gives  us 
the  ingenuous  joys  and  sorrows,  the  jokes,  squabbles  and 
loves  of  our  own  great-hearted  Yanks,  mostly  when  they 
were  not  fighting  but  occasionally  when  they  were.  Her 
understanding  both  of  officers  and  men  seems  equally  clear 
and  sympathetic. 

HENRY      HOLT      AND      COMPANY 

19    W.    44TH    ST.  (ii  '20)  NEW  YORK 


. 


